


Child Psychology

by Neuroses_Isnt_Just_A_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Crime, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuroses_Isnt_Just_A_Word/pseuds/Neuroses_Isnt_Just_A_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a general rule Lyn didn't like working with con men. They were like children, except instead of their antics being cute they were felonies. And Neal Caffrey was the Child King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Victories for Little Battles

**Author's Note:**

> Special Agent Peter Burk was standing in front of his boss disgruntled, not that he was much else this early morning, and especially without coffee. Special Agent Hughes gave a long suffering sigh.

Special Agent Peter Burk was standing in front of his boss disgruntled, not that he was much else this early morning, and especially without coffee. Special Agent Hughes gave a long suffering sigh.

"Look, we need an objective perspective. You like him too much and most of the agents either are too suspicious or too charmed to give me an accurate risk assessment."

"Risk assessment?" Peter growled before he could consider that growling at his already irritated boss probably wouldn't get him what he wanted. But hey, he had already started, might as well finish. "He's not a damn car, he's a human being and an asset to this department."

Hughes straightened in his chair and gave Peter his best "boss" look, the one that made even the most seasoned agents sit down and shut up. Peter was too caffeine deprived to do the smart thing and shove his pride and sit down but he was sane enough to stop talking.

"This isn't just coming from me, Burke. The higher ups want this and they're going to get it." Hughes sighed again, this time inwardly. He didn't enjoy causing Burk grief. Though he would probably never completely trust Caffrey the kid _was_ an asset and- though he'd never admit it out loud- not that bad of a guy. "My boss sent me a list of qualified people but since you know him best, I'm going to let _you_ choose who gets the assignment."

Peter knew this was much more generous than Hughes needed to be, and as ridiculous as he thought this whole affair was, orders were orders.

"Thanks." This was met by another curt look. "Sir." Peter exited his boss' office and looked down at the list of submitted names. Choosing a shrink for Neal Caffrey was definitely _not_ what he though he'd be doing today.

* * *

Neal Caffrey was in a particularly good mood this morning. He had successfully charmed Sandy, the young woman working the counter at his new favorite coffee house, into giving him a free Danish and, at least for the moment, the crushing weight of the perpetual roulette of mysteries that was his life was absent.

"Good morning, Peter," the con man chirped- _chirped!_ What did they put in that Danish? The FBI agent didn't even look up from his desk. He was stooped over something, his expression a cross between annoyed and resigned. Neal sat in one of the chairs facing his partner, settling for the long haul. "I said, _Good morning, _Peter." Nothing. "What have you got there?" Not even a grunt. Neal considered the possibility that Peter had fallen asleep with his eyes open. "I think Elizabeth's planning to run away with a horse rancher from Yemen."

"El's allergic to horses." Neal rolled his eyes. At least he had gotten it to speak. He watched Peter slump back into his chair. "I'm trying to pick out a shrink." Neal suddenly felt like he had strayed somewhere he really wasn't supposed to be, and not in the good way.

"Oh."

"For you." This rudely jerked Neal's free Danish high away from him.

"Uhhh, that's really nice of you Peter, but I don't think it's necessary."

"Well the Bureau thinks it is." The younger man scoffed.

"Dare I ask why?"

"They want a _risk assessment_." It was clear exactly what the agent thought about _that._ This did not appease Neal's incredulousness. Suddenly the annoyed look on Peter's was gone from his face as a spark of ingenuity ignited in his eyes. "Wait. I got it." The agent practically jumped out of his seat in his enthusiasm. He called out a 'stay here, Caffrey' over his shoulder as he headed back towards Hughes' office.

Neal, too blind-sighted to protest, let himself sulk in his chair before trying to cheer himself up by messing with the things on Peter's desk.

* * *

"Lyn Marrow."

Hughes looked up at Agent Burke who had unceremoniously burst into his office. "Excuse me?"

"Dr. Lyn Marrow. A Ph. D. in Psychology and a Masters in Criminology. She's a practicing psychologist who consults with law enforcement as an expert witness and as a profiler. She's plenty qualified." Hughes responded by closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"She wasn't on the list." Peter was about to open his mouth to retort. "I'm sure she's plenty qualified but it's probably better for Caffrey to be evaluated by a man considering his… effect on women. And she's not FBI."

"But she _has_ consulted with us before. And Lyn can handle Caffrey." At least he was pretty sure she could, last he heard she as getting married. "She has a highly sensitive bullshit sensor-" Hughes's eyebrows twitched in surprise at Burke's crudeness, "-her words, not mine. Trust me, she's good at getting inside these guys' heads. And besides, I think Caffrey would trust someone not directly associated with the Bureau more." Hughes looked at him suspiciously.

"Arrange a meeting. Let's see how this goes." Burke gave a sigh of relief after he exited his boss' office for the second time this morning. Now all he had to do was convince Lyn. Peter winced at the thought. He _definitely_ needed coffee.

* * *

Lyn Marrow closed the door to her apartment with her foot and then unceremoniously dropped her suitcases on the floor. She blew a stubborn strawberry blonde piece of hair out of her face and scanned the living room. As she suspected, it was empty; Roger was still at work. The young woman fiddled with her engagement ring, like she always did when she thought of her future husband. She took the seven steps from the foyer to the couch and face planted. A trans-Atlantic flight would do that to you.

Dr. Evan Birsch, her former graduate advisor, had moved back to his native England and was working with Scotland Yard. Receiving a particularly interesting, a.k.a. convoluted, secretive, and nearly impossible, case he had wanted someone he knew, someone he could trust working with him. So he had called her and she had predictably jumped at the opportunity. She loved that ornery old bastard.

Now all that was left was blacking out.

Naturally, the universe was not that kind. The phone just _had_ to ring, and ring and ring-

"What?" It wasn't the most graceful greeting, but she wasn't the most graceful person.

"Jesus, Lyn, what's eating you?" The voice registered in the back of her mind.

"Peter? Peter Burke?"

"Yeah, Lyn, it's me. Can you meet me at the office? I may have a job for you." Lyn groaned not caring that it was unprofessional.

"Peter, I just got off a plane from England. Is it urgent?"

"Yeah, it is." The woman sighed.

"Fine. Just… give me an extra twenty minutes."

"I'll give you ten."

"Go to hell, Burke." Lyn hung up after that abrupt statement but wasn't worried about backlash, Peter knew her well enough to know she didn't mean it. Sighing again the woman removed herself from the comfort of the couch and staggered into the bathroom. Her long limbs hit the counter with a soft thud but she didn't pay much attention. Water hit the basin and then was splashed on her face. Ah, cool relief. Ah, nice, soft towel. When she finally looked at her reflection the psychologist frowned. With her make up gone and hair up in a newly neat ponytail she looked all of sixteen; she blamed the freckles. And the fact that puberty had made her shoot up like a beanpole -5'8", tall for a girl- but refused to give her curves. So here she was, 28 years old and looked like a really tall high school freshman. Well, too late to do anything about it now. Duty and possible employment called.

The White Collar division of the FBI hadn't changed much. She had only consulted with them three times; normally she was called in on homicides and kidnappings. But Peter Burke had made an impression. The second case she worked with him took three months to close and they had gotten to know each other fairly well. She wasn't ashamed to say she had a crush on him at first. Tall, dashing, intelligent, no straight woman could blame her. That had all stopped, however, once she had met his wife, who she liked instantly.

"Hi, I'm Lyn Marrow. I'm here to see Special Agent Burke." The secretary smiled in response to her own and directed her to an office on the upper floor. She had managed to walk up most of the stairs before someone attempted to talk to her in her travel-logged state. A body sidled up to hers with a smoothness that could only mean trouble. Lyn turned to her new companion and was met with a pair of blue, blue eyes and one heart stopping, knee weakening, million mega-watt smile.

"Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey."

* * *

Neal had long ago gotten bored with snooping around Peter's desk. He needed cases, needed puzzles to occupy his mind. It was always going, going, going. If he didn't have something to focus on his mind tended to wallow, wallow, wallow; mostly about Kate.

The con man was now swiveling aimlessly in Peter's chair and observing the White Collar division below him. He enjoyed people watching, figuring out the motive behind their actions, what each wanted, what each was coning for; it was entertaining, and good reference material, and it delayed the wallowing for a little while.

Then Neal saw something particularly interesting. A new player came into the game. A tall, slender strawberry blonde with legs that went all the way up and all the way down. Time to introduce himself. After all, he did have extraordinary people skills and this mysterious new she might as well get the best first impression of the White Collar office, to smooth any dealings with her, of course. He quickly, gracefully, and quietly made his way to her side, as only Neal Caffrey could.

"Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey." His eyes took in every detail, observation was important in his line of work. Ten seconds of observation could save a con, even your life. Freckles -adorable-, wide hazel-green eyes –charming-, long hair gold and red and pin straight, even in that ponytail; an all around pretty girl. And she looked very tired.

What was she doing here? Was she a client? She looked like she should be teaching kindergarten or rescuing puppies. Not that looks couldn't be deceiving. He caught a flash of recognition in her eyes at his name. She had probably seen his photo in the paper but when dealing with an unknown person it was best to err on the side of caution. He gestured towards the remainder staircase and they began to ascend.

"Lyn Marrow."

"What brings to the White Collar division?"

"I'm meeting with Special Agent Burke." Vague, and yet her tone was not rude. He gave her his most disarming expression.

"What for?" They reached the upper floor and he stopped walking and turned to face him.

"A job. I'm sorry, I can't really talk about it." Her tone and expression was pleasant, friendly but her eyes were sharp, observant, analytical, not the slightly dazed, doe-like look of someone bowled over by his charms. So maybe she shouldn't be teaching kindergarten. Or maybe he should kick it up a notch. He stepped closer so he was firmly inside of her personal space.

"Aw, c'mon, you can tell me." He lowered his voice and gave her that smile, that particular combination that made people want to lean in closer. He was rewarded when her pupils dilated and her mouth parted, just a little. And we have lift off.

"Lyn!" Peter's bark from his office seemed to shake her enough to break eye contact.

"Well," Neal stepped to the side and saw her eyes flicker back up to his, "I'll let you get to it." She gave him another of her smoke screen friendly smiles but it lacked all of the cool neutrality of her previous one. Neal smelled victory.

"Thank you." The woman pivoted purposefully, the force of it saying: "look, I'm completely cool and collected and you don't affect me at all." It would have made much more impact if she had turned into Peter's office and not the wall next to Peter's office.

* * *

"Oh look, a wall." Lyn knew her voice was supposed to sound dispassionate to counteract that fact that she had missed the door but she sounded more dazed than anything. And she really didn't want to sound like she felt. Lyn could practically feel Caffrey's grin burning into the back of her skull and she just wanted to hit him. That would, however, require her to turn around and face him. Instead she took a step to the right and walked through the door, like a normal person this time.

That guy was _good._


	2. Who are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter watched Neal and Lyn interact outside his office for about ten seconds until he figured he should interfere. After all, he couldn't have Neal seducing the psychologist he assured his boss could handle him out in the hall. It just got better when Lyn missed the doorway on her first try. The agent shook his head. He should have known something like this would happen when he returned to his office and found it empty. He gave Neal his best disapproving glare after the woman walked past him into his office and gestured for him to go. Neal just faced him with that stupid smug expression, gave a shrug and a smirk and walked away.

Peter watched Neal and Lyn interact outside his office for about ten seconds until he figured he should interfere. After all, he couldn't have Neal seducing the psychologist he assured his boss could handle him out in the hall. It just got better when Lyn missed the doorway on her first try. The agent shook his head. He should have known something like this would happen when he returned to his office and found it empty. He gave Neal his best disapproving glare after the woman walked past him into his office and gestured for him to go. Neal just faced him with that stupid smug expression, gave a shrug and a smirk and walked away.

"So, Peter, what's so urgent?" Her voice sounded normal and she was the picture of decorum when he sat across from her. Peter sighed. This might have been easier if she hadn't met Caffrey first.

"It's…" Peter trailed off, trying to find the right way to phrase this. Lyn did not look pleased at this pause. "…kind of a favor." A brow quirked.

"A favor?" She sent him a glare and began to rise. "I'm going home."

"Lyn." His voice was harsher, authoritative. He was done humoring Lyn just because she decided to be more difficult than usual today. To her credit she looked duly chastised and sat back in her chair.

"Sorry, Peter. It's… been a long day."

"It's 10 in the morning."

"That should be a testament to my day so far." She shifted in her chair to lean forward. "So what's this favor?"

"You've already met Neal Caffrey." He watched her tired face go from apologetic to irritated. Well, it was better than doe-eyed and goofy. "The higher ups in the department want what they call a-" Peter couldn't believe he was going to say this for the third time today "-risk assessment of him. How much of a threat is he, what is the likelihood that he'll run and why, things like that." The woman leaned back again and he could practically hear the gears in her head turning.

"Hmmm. Obviously you're not happy about this. The FBI has psychologists on payroll. It would be easier for you to have one of them do it rather than call me in for a favor. Especially when you know how I feel about con men. You're worried about FBI biases clouding your shrinks' judgment."

"Or I know you're the best." Lyn wasn't fooled.

"You're worried about him. Attached. You care. You want someone who would be loyal to you before the Bureau." Peter couldn't help but smile. Lyn had always been impressive. "But Neal Caffrey? You spent three years chasing him, learning everything about him. Do you always know what's going on in his head?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, no. But I do know what's going on in here." The man gestured at his chest. "He's a good guy using his talents for all the wrong things. I want him to be better. And I don't want anything, like this witch-hunt evaluation, to get in the way of his progress."

Lyn slumped in her seat. _Way to bring out the big guns, Peter_.

"Just look at his file first, before you make a decision, please." He knew his expression was open and a little pleading; there was no use in trying to disguise anything from Lyn. The woman in question gave an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Ok, ok. I'll look at his file." The agent smiled at her as he handed over the rather thick item. "You do know you wouldn't have been able to wear me down this quickly if I wasn't this tired." She gave him a smile to show she wasn't trying to be snippy. Peter just grinned right back.

"You don't think I know that? Why do you think I didn't let you sleep first?" Lyn rolled her eyes but her smile got wider. After her departure Peter relaxed back in his chair with a more confident air about him. She would say yes. If there was anything Lyn couldn't resist, it was a chance to look in at a particularly devious and interesting psyche. And whose psyche was better qualified than Neal Caffrey's?

* * *

"So," Neal slid back into Peter's office with the glow of a successful charming radiating off him. "What was that about?" Peter gave him a look that told he was still a bit annoyed with him.

"At the moment, none of your business." Neal perked up like a shark perked up at the scent of blood in the water.

"At the moment? So she's coming back." It was probably his last statement not being a question that earned another 'drop it, Neal, you insufferable child' look from his handler. "What? She was cute." Peter tried to hide a smirk but Neal caught it. What did Peter know that Neal didn't?

"Just get back to work. There's a stack of cold cases on your desk calling your name." If Peter didn't sound so amused Neal would have just shrugged the order off as his usual gruffness. The con man shot his partner a suspicious look. What the hell was so funny? That he though the girl was cute? She was. Hmmm, time to "comply" with Peter's request, if only to get out from under his thumb long enough to do some research. The younger man stood up and mock saluted his handler.

"Yes, sir." Neal didn't even wait around to see Peter roll his eyes. He had work to do. Lyn Marrow, just who are you?

* * *

The woman in question was futilely trying to get some sleep. She had dropped her bag, much heavier with that con man's file in it, on the coffee table and managed to slink into the bedroom and struggle into pajamas. Despite the fact she was exhausted and under the covers in her lovely, soft bed, and had closed all the curtains, sleep was elusive.

She felt that buzz under her skin, the kind of buzz that will keep you going no matter what, the one she got when she consulted on a particularly interesting case.

_Damn you, Burke! _

She didn't even care that the entirety of the comforter landed on the floor when she threw it off. Roger would just roll his eyes at her in that affectionate way of his and remake the bed. Her thumb automatically went to fiddle with her engagement ring but found only flesh.

_Shit! That stupid thief had better not- Oh._ She had taken it off when she went into the bathroom to wash her face. The woman looked and low and behold one diamond engagement ring was sitting innocently on the bathroom counter. Great. And now she felt guilty. Over accusing a known thief of stealing something. God, she needed caffeine, caffeine and sugar. She quickly checked the clock in the kitchen. Only 11:18. Perfect. Sugar and caffeine were only a phone call away.

It took only ten minutes for all 5'4", including her mass of curly brown hair, of pastry chef to practically dance through her door. Thankfully with a fresh batch of caramel éclairs in one hand and dark, dark coffee in the other. These items were promptly set on the kitchen table before said pastry chef launched herself at Lyn.

"Oh, I missed you!" Lyn couldn't help but smile. Susan Whistler should have annoyed her to no end but instead had managed to charm, bake, and hug herself into Lyn's life.

"I was only gone for two weeks." Lyn hugged back anyways. Susan sprung away as quickly as she jumped in.

"Come, sit, sit! You look exhausted."

"Thanks. I feel worse." See: guilty, irritated, dead on feet.

"Uh-oh. What was that look?"

"What look?" Susan's little, round face became stern.

"That 'I've got a pinecone stuck up where the sun don't shine' look." Lyn gave her a dry look.

"Lovely imagery, Susan." But her smaller friend just stared at her expectantly. And she had brought sugar. And caffeine. "It's just, I've got a job offer, from Peter, the FBI agent, works in White Collar, that involves this…" What _was_ the right word? "…_guy_."

"Ooooooo. Is he cute?" The psychologist rolled her eyes.

"I ran into a wall." Susan's subsequent laughter was not appreciated. Lyn took this opportunity to grab one of the éclairs. Oh, god. Caramelly heaven. Susan finally calmed down enough to pour two cups of coffee (as a bribe, Lyn was sure of it) and continue to question her.

"So what's the problem with this guy who can make you run into walls?"

"He's just…" Lyn paused. At this point she was definitely –read: somewhat- sure she was going to turn down the job and give Peter a list of people that should fit his criteria. But just in case, through the hand of God, or if Caffrey's smile was any indication, through some sort of trickery of the Devil, she did say yes, she shouldn't divulge any details. Lyn sighed. "I'm sorry, Susan, I can't talk about it."

"Can you vaguely talk about it?" Please, she was a trained psychologist. She could be vague.

"He's the kind of narcissist who charms and smarms his way through life taking whatever he wants, not caring about the damage he does or the consequences of his actions." Ok, that wasn't really all that vague. "Or at least, that's the general idea." Susan looked fairly stunned at her little rant.

"Ok, sweetie. You know I have total faith in your freakishly accurate, bordering on mind reading, psychological skills." Lyn was immediately suspicious.

"But…" Lyn prompted.

"But… Peter's your friend, right?"

"More or less."

"So why would he ask you to be involved with this," Susan smirked, "_guy_ if he didn't have a good reason." Lyn responded by taking a determined bite out of her second éclair.

Peter _did_ have a good reason. Sort of. It was better to have Caffrey analyzed by someone who wouldn't feel pressured by the Bureau to skew the data one way or the other. However, Peter was also biased. He was friends, good friends with the con man and his main if not only concern was helping the younger man, not getting an accurate assessment. Did she really want to take on the responsibility of playing mediator between Peter Burke and the FBI? Especially when Caffrey's future was probably in the balance? No, she didn't like con men, yes, he had bowled her over and that irked her to no end, but she wasn't going to take that out on him through her profession.

And then there was the opportunity to take a peek into Neal Caffrey's mind. Most of what she heard about him was the same as anyone else who worked with/in law enforcement: his heists, his charm, his forgeries, his cons. But from what she had seen through Peter, this guy was unique, special, and Lyn really wanted to find out what made him that way. She could suck it up and deal with incessant lies, evasions, and trickery and the occasional victory for Caffrey. Probably.

* * *

Neal grinned at the freshly printed papers in his hand and sauntered his way to his partner's office. Peter was almost not surprised when Neal came swaggering through his door, a 'I've just pulled one over on you' look plastered on his too pretty face; the agent had gotten accustomed to Neal bursting into his life whenever and wherever he pleased.

"You've solved one of your cases already?" Neal felt it was a testament to his finely honed talents that Peter didn't sound shocked at the idea. The con man dropped his stack of papers on Peter's desk.

"Lyn Marrow-"

Peter let out a sound that was half sigh half growl.

"Oh, god."

"Born April 10th, 1981 in Phoenix, Arizona. Her father, Jason Marrow, is in the Marine Corps, her mother, Vivian Marrow, owns a boutique. One older sister named Andrea, works as a nurse. She entered The University of Arizona at age 16 for her undergrad, attended NYU for her Ph. D. in Psychology as well as earning a Masters in Criminology. Today she is living in Manhattan working as a therapist and a consultant for various law enforcement." Peter glared at Caffrey's wide, and currently insufferable grin. He should have known better than to expect Caffrey to actually _work_ instead of…_this_.

"Your point?" Neal supported himself on his palms as he leaned forward for effect.

"She's _my_ therapist, isn't she?"

"Doesn't anything I say get through to you? Do the words 'none of your business' literally mean nothing?" Neal face read 'c'mon now, Peter'. "She's thinking about it." Neal straightened of the desk and if he were the kind to do a victory dance, he would be doing so. "Now get back to _work_ and stop cyber stalking Lyn Marrow."

* * *

Lyn had tried to resist, really, she did but that file kept _calling_ to her. And she had surrendered. The file spread out in front of her wasn't the whole thing, three years of research generated more paperwork than you could fit into one, albeit one very thick, file. Peter had given her the basics, some more interesting parts, and some of the things Caffrey had done while working for White Collar. That's how Roger found her when he came home hours later, stooped over various papers that littered their coffee table.

"Lyn? Working already?" At the sound of his amused voice the woman jumped from her half bent position and threw herself at her fiancé who responded by picking her up and swinging her around in a circle.

God, it felt good to be back in Roger's arms. He was tall and broad and warm and she just wanted to stay where she was and revel for a while.

"Mmmmm, I missed you."

"Missed you too, the apartment was way to neat while you were away." Lyn playfully smacked his arm. Lyn loved the sound of his voice; it was deep and rumblely and had kept enough of that South Carolina twang to be charming. She finally disentangled herself from him to let him put away his jacket and kick off his shoes. "So how was Merry Old England?"

"Cold, dreary, fantastic. I forgot how much I miss Birsch. It was great working with him again."

"Mm-hm" Lyn settled back on the couch in front of the coffee table, letting Roger rummage around the kitchen for dinner. "I see you got a new case?"

"Yeah, from Peter."

"Ah yes, the mysterious and important Peter." His tone wasn't as light as it should have been.

"Don't be jealous," Lyn teased.

"I'm not jealous." Lyn rolled her eyes.

"You're always jealous." Roger poked his head out of the cut out between the kitchen and the living room.

"Well can you blame me?" But his tone was playful again and he was smiling so Lyn smiled back and held up her hand so he could see the engagement ring.

"You've already got the ring on my finger, I think you've won." It was Roger's turn to roll his eyes. He made his way to sit next to her and Lyn immediately cuddled up.

"So you've already said yes?"

"No, I told him I'd think about it." Roger eyed the mass expansion of papers on the table.

"But you're going to say yes." Lyn looked back at the contents of the file; at the papers that told her Caffrey sent Burke birthday and Christmas cards during the three years Peter was perusing him and after his incarceration, that detailed how he escaped prison four months before his release date for a girl, described how he hated guns. They also told her more details of his cons, pictures of his forgeries, profiles of the people he robbed and the items he took from them, and all the damage he had "allegedly" caused.

Lyn turned her head to kiss her fiance. Yeah, she was going to say yes.


	3. Observations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth Burke liked to think of herself as an understanding person. You would have to be when married to an FBI agent. That kind of marriage meant you would have to share your husband, not with another woman, but with an entire other life. She knew Peter, the hard-ass FBI agent that people fled from when he was in a mood, and her Peter were different people. She also knew that FBI Peter would, more often than not, keep her Peter away from her in the mornings and at dinner. Hell, FBI Peter might get her Peter shot, or stabbed, or, God forbid, _killed_. But Elizabeth smiled, mostly in relief, every time her Peter walked through the door, and understood that FBI Peter was a part of him, a big part, a necessary part, or _her_ Peter wouldn't exist.

Elizabeth Burke liked to think of herself as an understanding person. You would have to be when married to an FBI agent. That kind of marriage meant you would have to share your husband, not with another woman, but with an entire other life. She knew Peter, the hard-ass FBI agent that people fled from when he was in a mood, and her Peter were different people. She also knew that FBI Peter would, more often than not, keep her Peter away from her in the mornings and at dinner. Hell, FBI Peter might get her Peter shot, or stabbed, or, God forbid, _killed_. But Elizabeth smiled, mostly in relief, every time her Peter walked through the door, and understood that FBI Peter was a part of him, a big part, a necessary part, or _her_ Peter wouldn't exist.

Elizabeth wasn't going to lie; when Peter spent three years chasing Neal Caffrey, learning everything about him from his shoe size to his favorite foods to his preferred methods of cracking a safe, she was a little jealous. She seriously doubted Peter knew her shoe size. But being jealous of Neal was ridiculous, her relationship with her husband and the con- or ex-con's relationship with her husband was nowhere near the same thing. But for three years it had all been about Neal. And Elizabeth was prepared to resent him. Especially when she saw his photograph.

But then Neal broke out of prison. For love. Elizabeth's heart had melted. She found herself being Neal's defender, even against Peter. And that was before she even met him. She thought that was enough to qualify her as understanding.

What she didn't understand was what her husband was explaining to her.

"They want Neal evaluated?" Peter was putting on a yellow/gold tie that didn't really go with his shirt but Elizabeth was too distracted to correct him. Why would the Bureau need Neal to be psychoanalyzed? If they wanted to know how Neal's mind work they should just ask Peter. After all, he _had_ spent almost a third of their marriage chasing him and had caught him, _twice_. Did they not trust Peter's judgment? Then why would they let Neal out into Peter's custody? Elizabeth frowned. Something about this wasn't right. "Why?"

"I'm not sure yet. The orders came from above Hughes and he either doesn't know or he isn't telling me. But he did make the decision of who analyzes Neal mine." Her fashion blind husband grinned. "I got Lyn to do it."

Ah, Lyn Marrow. Another person Elizabeth felt she shouldn't have liked. Then again, any wife would resent a pretty twenty-something staring at her husband with the mix of adoration and admiration that bespoke of a crush. But that had been _years_ ago. And when Lyn had been faced with her the girl had looked embarrassed and ashamed, like she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. And she was friendly, and whip smart, and cute. It was the freckles. The girl was just _covered_ in them.

"You got her to say yes?" Lyn was notoriously difficult when it came to consulting jobs. You wanted her because she was so good and when that stubbornness was directed at the perp, they really didn't stand a chance. But before she said yes, you had to meet her demands, well, one demand. She wanted access to everything. The girl explained that she couldn't make a truly accurate assessment unless she saw all the evidence, all the research, and if not participating in than at least observing the interrogations. And not everyone was comfortable or happy to share everything with a civilian.

There was a rumor floating around White Collar during that couple month stint Lyn had consulted there that she had originally wanted to be a cop but the recruitment officer took one look at her and showed her the door.

"I sent her home with some of Neal's greatest hits. She's going to say yes."

_Well, that might do it_. "And what does Neal think about this?" Peter sat down on the bed next to her and his face became more somber.

"He wasn't all that happy when he found out. I don't blame him." Peter then rolled his eyes. "But he was grinning like a maniac when he put things together and realized Lyn was going to be the one assessing him." Elizabeth was a little confused at Peter's explanation.

"Put what things together?" Elizabeth watched as her husband's face twisted into reluctant amusement.

"Oh, they had a little… altercation yesterday. It didn't end gracefully for Lyn." The woman felt a twinge of sympathy for Lyn's blood pressure. She could only imagine was an _altercation_ with Neal Caffrey entailed. Peter leaned over to kiss her before heading out the door.

"Will you be home for dinner?' It was an automatic question now.

"I'll see what I can do." It was an automatic response and nowhere near a promise. But Elizabeth Burke was an understanding person.

* * *

Lyn was glad Peter gave her her own office, but she wished the walls weren't made of glass. When going over files before interviewing a subject she liked privacy. Her biggest asset to her profession was her objectivity; the ability to study a person, take in every detail and analyze them, dissect them, and understand them without getting emotionally involved. The child psychologist her mother had forced upon her had told her she had the ability to bypass her empathy. Lyn liked to think of it as objectivity because it didn't make her sound like a serial killer.

But it was difficult to be objective when she could see everyone and everyone could see her and what she was doing. Lyn had a nagging feeling she was doing something she really wasn't supposed to.

When chasing someone down she often had to look at evidence and reports and give profiles at the same time right in the squad room with detectives and officers and it never bothered her then. But Lyn wasn't hunting down Neal Caffrey, in fact he could walk into White Collar any minute and stand over her and watch her try to analyze his files. It was an unsettling thought.

* * *

Neal had long ago mastered the art of multi-tasking. He was on one hand listening to Peter describe their new case and on the other scanning the White Collar Crime Unit for Lyn Marrow. Listening around corners to private phone conversations was also an art he had firmly under his belt. She was here and she was trying to get inside his head. If he wasn't carefully schooling his expressions to match what Peter was saying he would have grinned.

He had been angry at first, that the Bureau kept making him jump through hoops after he had risked his life time and time again for them. But being angry didn't solve anything. There was always a different angle, another play; no problem was insurmountable. This could be fun if done right. If anything it would enlighten him to what the Bureau's intentions are.

The con man didn't spot Marrow herself but he did see a clerk struggle up the stairs with two boxes from the archives, boxes that looked like they might have his case number on them.

"Neal?" Peter's voice came into the foreground of his consciousness.

"Yeah, Peter. Sounds like a standard Cartwheel. Dudley should be put under surveillance. He's going to make a deposit soon. Will you excuse me?"

Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched his "partner's" figure move to help the clerk assigned to help Lyn with her research move boxes of his own files. The agent felt an urge to call Neal back but Lyn was going to have to deal with him sooner or later, she might as well get used to the ex-con now.

After assuring the clerk that he could handle both boxes himself and that she deserved a break Neal allowed himself the license to break into a smirk before entering Marrow's borrowed office. The woman was surrounded by paper and boxes, her head bent with the side of her bottom lip caught in her teeth in concentration. Neal set down his load to get her attention. She didn't even flinch.

"Thanks, Rachael."

"No problem." That caught her attention. Her head jerked up but the only sign of surprise was a slight widening of the eyes and the release of her bottom lip.

"Oh, hello."

Neal had been expecting something a little more dramatic. But maybe it was better that she remained composed; it meant she would be a more interesting opponent.

"How is the research going?" His voice was laddened with amusement. There was just something funny about this situation.

The girl was unusually still but her eyes were bright and alert and she never broke eye contact. She was either nervous and good at hiding it or trying not to spook him. She tilted her lips up into a friendly expression.

"It's going well for the amount of paper work you've generated. Not the most I've seen, though going through it has never felt like stalking until now."

Ah-ha! Neal's grin spread into a full-fledged smile. There was a crack in her expression. She had blinked and shook her head slightly. She was surprised at herself; that last statement had not been screened and vetted before exiting her mouth. But she didn't blush or stutter or try to take it back and Neal could commend her for owning up to it. He decided not to comment, to choose another avenue, and keep her on her toes.

"Aren't you going to start asking me questions?"

"Not at the moment."

"I thought you were here to profile me."

"I am profiling you."

"Caffrey!" Hughes' bark cut through the little world they had created. Neal sighed dramatically.

"We never seem to get a moment alone, do we?"

Marrow shrugged and her lips quirked in real amusement. "Well I'll have to ask you questions eventually."

The girl moved to tuck her hair behind her ear and Neal saw the diamond before the ring and it's placement. Neal internally frowned. That had _definitely_ not been there before; he would have noticed. But his keeper's boss was calling and the weight of the tracker on his ankle reminded him he had to comply. With a little flourish, because Neal Caffrey never did anything without style, the ex-con turned his back on his most recent, and apparently _engaged_, adversary.

* * *

With a tip of the hat Caffrey strutted out of her office. As far as surprise encounters go Lyn thought it went fairly well, with the exception of the stalking comment. She didn't know why she had said it. Lyn hoped this blurting out things that Caffrey seemed to make her do wasn't going to be a theme in their interactions. At least she had put a name to the uneasy feeling she was experiencing.

It was interesting how Caffrey had stayed on the far side of her desk, never getting close or leaning in. He wasn't trying to charm her; instead he had been assessing her as she had been assessing him. The con man was smart, smarter then her in all likelihood, so he was going to catch on to any psychological tricks fast. Probably because he uses the same ones to do _his_ (former) job.

Lyn looked back at the information in front of her. The man she was beginning to build out of these files was very… different. He was full of contradictions; he wouldn't hesitate to use someone to get what he wanted but he detests hurting people. Didn't he understand that using people _is_ hurting them? Lyn shook her head. He probably didn't.

There was a knock on the door. _This _is why she didn't like the glass windows; they were just an invitation for interruption_._ A young African American man stepped into her borrowed office. He flashed her a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Hi, you're Lyn Marrow, right?" The man stepped forward to grasp the hand Lyn stuck out.

"Yes, that's me. And you are?"

"I'm Agent Jones. I work with Agent Burke and I just wanted to introduce myself."

Lie. He didn't just want to introduce himself. Lyn kept her face open, guileless, encouraging and flashed him a smile.

"Well thank you." Jones nodded and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously trying to phrase something. Lyn decided to act first. "You work with Caffrey, what do you think of him?" Jones' posture immediately changed. His shoulders hunched and he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. He was defensive. Interesting. Looks like she hit the nail on the head.

"He's a good guy." His tone was accusatory, like she had implied he was the despot of society. Lyn leaned forward.

"I can tell you like him. So does Peter. You can tell a lot about a person from the people around them. I know he's not a bad person because people keep telling me he's not and they're telling the truth when they say it. But I was hired to profile him and I have to look at everything. My intention isn't to hurt him, just to do my job."

Jones seemed to relax, his shouldered slumped and his face shifted back into friendly territory. "Then I guess I should leave you to it then." He gave her a friendly nod.

"Thanks, Jones." The friendly nod turned into a smile and she was once again alone. Or as alone as a person could be in a glass box. As illuminating as Jones' and Caffrey's visits had been the next person to burst in on her was getting a pen thrown at them.

* * *

Neal was a little surprised when not two minutes after Peter ordered him to stay put while he talked to Marrow the agent reappeared at his side looking confused and absently rubbing his forehead. Neal raised his eyebrows.

"Everything ok, Peter?"

"Yeah, I just popped in on Lyn to see how she was doing and ask her opinion on Dudley."

"And?"

"She threw a pen at me."

Neal laughed, one of his few genuine, involuntary laughs. He didn't care that Peter sent him a glare; it was funny.

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know?" Peter rolled his eyes and cuffed his charge on the arm with a folder. "C'mon, let's go."

Neal stood from his leaning position but didn't move forward. "Uh, Peter?" The man in question turned around and opened his mouth, probably threaten to throw Neal back in jail, but Neal silenced him by pointing to his own forehead. There was an ink mark where the pen had hit the FBI agent right in the center. Peter's scowl deepened.

"Damn it." Neal smirked at his partner's back as he made his way to the men's room. The con man looked up to where he knew Marrow was reading over his files.

_Interesting girl._


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry about the delay but I wanted to publish the fourth and fifth chapters together.**

**Sorry about the delay but I wanted to publish the fourth and fifth chapters together.**

Neal studied the chessboard in front of him. He could move his knight and take out Mozzie's bishop or move his castle and create a better barrier between his queen and enemy forces.

"Are you going to make a move or should I come back later?"

Neal glanced up at his friend. "Patience, Moz." Neal sat back in his chair. "The Bureau hired a psychologist to analyze me." Neal knew that this would probably set Moz off but at the moment he needed to be distracted. There had still been no progress on The Music Box. As expected, Moz's eyes got wide and his mouth dropped open.

"E-excuse me?" Moz was actually beginning to sputter.

"Yeah, a competent one, smart." Neal tilted his head, considering the girl. "She's kind of funny too." Mozzie was having none of it.

"Oh that's great, just great, The Fascist Overlords hired some funny woman head shrink to dissect your brain. Don't take _anything_ she gives you, pills, drinks, food, you never know what she's put in them!"

"Relax, Moz, I've got this covered. Besides, I think this could be fun."

"Fun? Fun!" Mozzie's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hairline if he had a hairline. "Absolutely not! That's exactly what they want!"

Neal knew it was time to become more active in the 'calming down Moz' process. He put his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

"Really, it's fine. I just have to answer all the questions the way she wants, it's just another con."

Moz glowered at him.

"I don't trust shrinks."

"I'm starting to get that." Neal regarded the chessboard once more. "Besides, this is an opportunity to find out who's pulling the strings. Peter didn't request this and neither did Hughes. Why is the Bureau so interested in assessing me now? Mozzie, what if it has something to do with Mentor? What if it has something to with Kate?"

Mozzie leaned back in his chair and considered his friend's newest theory. Of course Neal would bring this back to Kate. He didn't trust The Suit but at this point he trusted Kate less. And he didn't trust this shrink at all. Moz considered the con in front of him, bent over slightly, eyes trained on the chess pieces, brow furrowed, and eyes that were calculating every move with lightening speed.

Neal was like a force of nature, all energy and unpredictability and fierce beauty and swept everything and everyone up along with him, you never stood a chance. But forces of nature were wild things, dangerous things and if not tempered, watched carefully, could end up destroying everything, including themselves. That's were Mozzie came in. He was the voice of reason in the gale.

He could see Neal revving up with this shrink thing. The problem with being so good at the con is that you begin to think nothing can touch you. The kid in front didn't even consider the possibility that this shrink could be better at the game than he was. To Mozzie, it looked like he was going to have to start shouting against the wind again.

"Just," the bespeckeled man sighed, "be careful."

Neal looked up from under his lashes and gave Moz his most charming smile.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" Neal moved his knight.

* * *

Lyn stretched out on the couch, finally done with every single written word ever taken down about Neal Caffrey. At least the ones taken down by the FBI. It had taken her 14 hours but she was finally _done_. Now came the interview process. With Neal Caffrey. Lyn closed her eyes and sunk further into the cushions.

"Hey, babe?" Roger's voice carried over from the kitchen and Lyn smiled. A man who cooked _and_ cleaned; she had found the perfect husband.

"Yes?"

"May I enter the living room now or is it still the property of the FBI?"

Lyn rolled her eyes at his sarcasm but her grin widened. She did love that man.

She had met Roger four years ago through a friend of a friend. He was sweet, smart, funny, and an architect. He didn't always understand her job and was a little jealous but he loved her more than anything and that was more than she needed. When he brought up the subject of marriage she didn't even blink before agreeing with him.

"Yes, Roger, you may enter the inner sanctum."

Her fiancé's 6"2', college-footballed frame plopped down and drew her feet into his lap.

"So, what's this mysterious new project that's taking up so much of your time all about?" His tone was casual but his eyes were intent on her face. He always thought he could make her tell him something by staring her down.

"Oh, I'm just profiling someone, a consultant."

Roger's eyebrows twitched inward for a second. He was not satisfied with her answer.

"C'mon, you can tell me."

Lyn nearly jumped at the phrase. Caffrey had said the exact same thing. The ex-con had poured every ounce of sex appeal he had into it, Roger's attempt to convince her seemed clumsy in comparison. And she loved him more for it.

"It's Neal Caffrey." Technically she wasn't supposed to discuss her work with the Bureau with another civilian but spouses were generally allowed to slide past that rule, as long as it wasn't anything highly classified; and Roger was almost her spouse. If she weren't so busy working out the spousal grey area she would have noticed the look of recognition on Roger's face and then the tightening of his features that signaled unhappiness.

"Caffrey? Neal Caffrey? The con man that jumped out that judge's chambers?" Wow, really not happy. Lyn gave him a wary look. There wasn't an obvious reason for his extreme reaction to her new assignment.

"Yes," she said carefully. The frown lines deepened on Roger's face.

"You hate con men."

"Yes, I do. But-" Lyn paused. She was about to say 'But Peter asked for a favor and then tossed this incredibly interesting case in front of me so how could I say no?' but she knew that bringing up Peter or her sometimes all-consuming fascination with criminal minds as reasons to go against her "code" would not sit well with the man holding her feet hostage. Roger was very into ironclad "codes of honor". It was probably a southern thing. "But it's my job."

Roger wasn't completely appeased but he sat back into the cushions and released his fiancé's feet so she could get a drink. He resigned himself to simply glare at the photo of Caffrey that was sitting on top of some files Lyn had brought home. When Lyn had told him she was a psychologist he had pictured her sitting in a tasteful office counseling people or in a lab doing research, not spending half her time running around with men who toted guns, chasing dangerous criminals. Lyn was brilliant and a fighter but she couldn't take down some meathead killer with her bare hands or analyze a bullet into not hitting her. He worried. And he wasn't all the fond of the way his redhead would jump into these cases, sometimes forgetting to take care of herself. Honestly, Roger didn't want to know what her life was like before he was there to keep order in the apartment and ply her with food. Hopefully when they were settled down and started a family she would devote more time to counseling and give up her criminal chasing ways.

The southerner refocused on the picture of the too pretty man smiling like could get away with murder. This Neal Caffrey was nothing but trouble. He could tell.

* * *

Neal stood at the foot of the stairs to June's grand foyer, the picture of elegance and patience. Looks were deceiving. Inside his head was whirring with possibilities, trying to anticipate every technique Marrow was going to throw at him and how he would counter. Balancing getting the information he wanted and giving her the information she wanted without actually divulging anything would be no simple task. He could feel the adrenaline start pumping already; which, when he looked at it objectively, was a little unnecessary. He wouldn't be scaling any walls or stealing any works of art. But Neal was fighting the urge to tap his foot or wring his hands in the anticipation of just _getting going already. _

The con man took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had no reason to be this wound up. He had this covered; he knew he did. They didn't call him a confidence man because it was cute.

Jesus, Peter should be here already.

The clicking of tasteful heels on polished floors altered Neal to his landlady's arrival. June was always dressed to the nines but never looked pretentious or out of place, something Neal admired.

"Good Morning, Neal. Waiting for Peter?" June's voice always held warmth for him. The ex-con didn't think he could ever thank her enough for everything she's done. Neal gave her a genuinely warm smile.

"Morning, June. Yes, he should be here soon."

June reached up and tugged on the lapel of his jacket and then brushed out the non-existent wrinkles and dust on his shoulders. The motions were practiced and familiar; June often fussed over his clothes when she caught him before he left for work. Neal knew she wasn't really seeing him when she did it. June looked up to inspect the angle of his hat and her eyes zeroed in on his face before taking on a mischievous quality.

"Hmmm. You're planning something."

Neal put on his patented innocent expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

June shook her head but her expression was filled with affection.

"Of course not, dear. You would never." Her eyes were sparkling and her mouth in a knowing smile and she and Neal shared a moment of perfect understanding that only people who have been in the game were privy to.

"Neal!" Peter half jogged to his charge's side. "June," Peter gave her a rushed but polite greeting, "sorry if I'm interrupting anything but I've got to get our boy here to the office." Peter had clamped a firm hand on Neal's shoulder at the slightly less than affectionate 'our boy' and steered the ex-con out the door. "C'mon, we're going to be late enough as it is."

Neal considered digging his heels into the sidewalk just to be difficult but he had been waiting impatiently for Peter to get here so not even annoying his partner was worth being this contrary today. And it would ruin his shoes. Once seated in the FBI issued car and headed merrily into New York traffic, Neal turned to the agent to address something else that had been bothering him.

"Peter, why did you volunteer to drive me to the office today?" Peter shifted in his seat slightly and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. If Neal was reading Peter's signals correctly that meant he was about to be evasive.

"Because we need to talk about your session with Lyn."

Or maybe it meant he was preparing to say something he wasn't comfortable with. Neal was still learning all the subtleties of Peter's signals.

"Uh-huh."

Peter gave him a sidelong glance. He felt oddly like a father driving his troublemaker son to a new school; full of advice he knew wouldn't be headed and worried about the impression kid would make on the teachers.

"Don't try to play Lyn. I chose her because I trust her and because she's very, very good at her job. She'll be fair to you if you let her." Peter turned his head to give Neal the full force of his stern stare. "I mean it. The more evasive you are the less trustworthy she's going to think you are. And her report isn't for me or for Hughes or for anyone who is rooting for you. Remember that."

"You're rooting for me?" Neal asked playfully. Peter rolled his eyes. Typical.

* * *

Lyn stood in front of the mirror to evaluate her appearance one more time. Choosing an outfit for this interview took an embarrassingly long time. She had _finally_ decided on a tasteful green top, simple black slacks, hair left down, and no make-up; all things to make her seem wholesome, unassuming. The psychologist wanted Caffrey to be comfortable and give him as little motivation for flirting as possible.

Still, she was starting to second-guess her wardrobe decision. She felt like she was going on her first date rather than assessing a subject. Lyn threw up her hands in frustration with herself. She wasn't some love-struck teenager, she was an adult and she had already proved that she could handle a rapport with Neal Caffrey. She had read and assessed all of his documents and already had a good feeling for his game. The woman stormed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

"Hey, Lyn. You look nice."

Damn it, she didn't want to look _nice_. Roger must have seen her face because he immediately offered her a chocolate croissant.

"Susan dropped these off earlier."

Lyn took her offering and bit into it with gusto.

"You look like you're about to go on the war path. What's wrong?"

Lyn rolled her eyes. "I thought I looked _nice_."

Roger sighed one of his 'my dear little fiancé is being unreasonably difficult again' sighs. Lyn just sent him a glare.

"I'm fine, or I will be fine, once I get in the zone." Her statement was accompanied by moving her hands in parallel outwards, to which Roger tried to hide a smile.

"Oh right, _the zone_." Lyn's famous psycho-analytical zone; once in it, nothing can distract her from pulling apart every twitch, every change in voice pitch, every word choice until your mind is cracked wide open.

"Don't mock the zone or I'll turn it on you!"

Roger playfully wagged his finger at the still standing woman. "Ah-ah-ah. Remember, you promised when we first started dating you wouldn't over analyze me."

"Whatever." Lyn didn't care that she was turning the combination of nervousness and anticipation into undeserved aggression at her future husband. He knew that this was her way of shaking off nerves. Lyn took a deep breath and then released.

A small smirk etched its way across her face. Butterflies: gone. Confidence: present. Time to go to work.


	5. Guerilla Warfare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyn shifted in her cushy chair in a borrowed FBI counseling room. The room had, thankfully, solid walls and was equipped with two armchairs facing each other, only a low coffee table in the middle. The walls were a neutral, friendly tope and someone had seen fit to put plant in every corner and in front of every frosted window. Despite the comforting atmosphere Lyn thought "Eye of the Tiger" should be playing while she waited for Caffrey.

Lyn shifted in her cushy chair in a borrowed FBI counseling room. The room had, thankfully, solid walls and was equipped with two armchairs facing each other, only a low coffee table in the middle. The walls were a neutral, friendly tope and someone had seen fit to put plant in every corner and in front of every frosted window. Despite the comforting atmosphere Lyn thought "Eye of the Tiger" should be playing while she waited for Caffrey.

The door clicked and the devil himself sauntered in. That song immediately changed to Edwin Starr's "War". Lyn stood and offered him her hand to shake. Predictably the con man gave her a dazzling smile and took the offering.

"Good Morning, Mr. Caffrey." All of the psychology textbooks told you to use a subject's first name, and use it repeatedly to form a bond of trust. In one of Peter's notes he described a conversation between him and the con man before his incarceration where Caffrey teased Peter about the bonding tactics he was trying to use. Apparently the ex-con had read a psychology textbook or two; he would be expecting her to call him Neal. So she didn't.

"Dr. Marrow."

As they sat in their respective chairs Lyn internally winced. She was proud of her Ph. D. but she thought the title Dr. Marrow made her sound like some sort of cheesy super-villain. She saw Caffrey's eyes scan the room and then her. An eyebrow twitched in surprise when his gaze landed on her empty hands.

"No notebook or tape recorder?"

Lyn gave a small smile full of humility. "I don't need them. I have something of a photographic memory, but instead of remembering everything I see I remember everything I hear." She tilted her head to the side and gave him a slightly questioning look. "I also thought you would be more comfortable without a physical recording of what you say here."

Neal gave her a carefully polite smile. "That was nice of you." Caffrey shifted slightly. Hmmm, so he wasn't as cool and collected as he wanted to come off as, she must have hit the recordless thing on the head. "So where do we start?"

Lyn gave a little shrug. "It doesn't matter where we start. What did you have for breakfast?"

This earned her a more obvious look of surprise. "What I had for breakfast?"

"Like I said, it doesn't matter where we start."

"Just where we end."

Lyn made a non-committal gesture.

"I had fruit salad and cinnamon scones. You?"

"Chocolate croissant."

"Was it good?"

"Delicious. Did you eat with Peter?"

"No, I have breakfast at the house I'm staying in."

"Ah right, some lady named," Lyn paused, pretending to have to think about it, "June rents you a room, I believe." If Caffrey was alarmed that she knew this he didn't show it.

"Yes, she's a lovely woman."

"And you enjoy living there?"

"It has the best view."

Neal was being flippant but the slight defensiveness in his tone and the barely discernable narrowing of his eyes when he corrected Lyn's dismissal of June showed he was genuinely emotionally attached to the woman, as if the Hearts Wide Open case wasn't proof enough of that. This wasn't going to be like any other interview she had done before. Caffrey was well schooled in projecting only what he wanted the world to see; she was going to have to rely on minutia to interpret his true meanings. This was going to get very irritating or very interesting very quickly.

* * *

Peter was sitting at his desk tapping his pencil on the case file he was supposed to be looking over. He just couldn't concentrate while he had thrown his friend to the wolves. Except he wasn't sure which friend was being thrown and which was the wolves. He could imagine Lyn and Neal just sitting across from each other, both with polite smiles plastered on their faces, talking about nothing and both fervently interpreting every move and sentence like it held the secrets to the Holy Grail.

Peter let go of the pencil and tiredly rubbed his face with his hands. Dear God, they were going to tear each other apart.

* * *

Neal had to admit, he was surprised. He was sure that she would call him by his first name, just like all the books tell you to. And starting out with his breakfast menu? What was this girl up to? This girl with her unpainted face and her stylish yet 'move it along, nothing to see here' outfit.

"Peter caught you twice and shortly after your second incarceration you were released into his custody."

"True."

"How is that working out for you?"

Neal gave her a friendly smile. Give her empty answers; saying nothing with a lot of words can often get you out of corners. "It's challenging. I like the work, it's never boring. Though the two mile radius puts a dampening on my social calendar." His attempt at lighthearted half-facts didn't seem to affect her.

"And you like working with Peter."

That one wasn't a question.

"I do. He's a smart guy. The only person smart enough to catch me."

"Twice." Her mouth was tilted upwards and there was genuine humor in her eyes. He returned it.

"Twice."

"So you respect him, at least a little, for catching you."

Neal smirked. Smart girl.

"Yeah, but don't tell him that." This wasn't anything everyone didn't already know, it didn't matter that he admitted it.

"And you like him."

Neal wondered what she would think if he lied and said no.

"He cares about you," she added during his slight pause. Neal was about to open his mouth to be evasive again but Marrow was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes and he was struck with an irrational need to please her.

"He took a chance on me, got me out of prison. We make a good team."

* * *

Hughes stood at the front of his office observing the White Collar division below him. He did this often, just watching his people work for a few minutes before diving back into the inane and never ending paperwork that came with being the head of anything. He had good teams and then the best team; Peter, Jones, and the probie Cruiz.

And then there was Caffrey. The ex-con was slippery but he was an extremely valuable asset to the White Collar division and at his core, a good kid. He produced results, fantastic results; the means were a bit unconventional but they worked so who was Hughes to complain? And if anyone could handle Caffrey it was Peter. As far as Hughes saw it while Peter was around to direct the kid's wild brilliance in a more lawful direction he didn't worry about Caffrey all that much.

His bosses didn't seem to share his philosophy. So his expert consultant was in 'therapy' with Dr. Lyn Marrow. He had officially met the young woman when Peter had brought her in after she took the job. Marrow was sharp, he knew this from the cases she had worked with the Bureau before, but that meeting with Peter was the first time he had spent any time with her. If Caffrey did have compelling reasons to run or break his contract with the FBI in any way, Hughes wanted to know. But he didn't want to _give_ the kid any reasons. This felt more like an attack than a standard profile request.

The senior agent sighed. His few minutes were up. He had to go back to work and trust Caffrey to take care of himself.

* * *

So far Caffrey had not flirted or tried to play any mind games with her. And their seated positions and the barrier of the coffee table stopped him from using his physicality against her. And at this point she figured he was trying to understand her game and planning his own accordingly. At least that's what it seemed like. But she was preparing for a curveball. So far she had been keeping it rather light, not talking about jail or Kate Moreau. He had been slowly opening up and she didn't want him to clam up even tighter than before.

She had briefly talked about the heists he pulled and the forgeries he created before his capture mostly to see how he viewed them now that the ex-con had seen the other side. The con artist had preened and puffed up like a peacock at the mention of his "accomplishments". No guilt or remorse. He either refused or simply couldn't make the connection between the destruction he had seen white-collar crimes do while working for the FBI and the destruction _his_ crimes had done. If it were any other man Lyn would say he was delusional and she wasn't completely sure Caffrey wasn't.

But there wasn't any malice in his expression or tone. Caffrey didn't want to _hurt _people, just outsmart them. And he clearly liked the attention; the man had lit up like a Christmas tree when she paid tribute to his former vocation after all.

If Lyn weren't working at keeping an open, unassuming expression she would have sighed. She didn't really _want_ to talk about Kate Moreau but Caffrey had broken out of super-max to chase after her and a large part of why she was here was to assess his flight risk. This wasn't therapy where talking about Moreau would help her understand how to heal Caffrey or be cathartic for the criminal; no, this would just hurt. But he was already in a good mood and if she had any chance of completing her job she better rip the proverbial band-aid off now.

"Mr. Caffrey," she started off in her most soothing voice, "what happened, when you broke out of prison to find Kate Moreau?" The changes in Caffrey were immediate and drastic. She saw a myriad of emotions cross his face, so complicated and over so quick that she could barely discern them before Caffrey closed up shop. There had definitely been frustration and very acute pain but now his expression was smooth and inviting. An untrained person would have been fooled by the mask Caffrey had dawned, but after seeing bits and pieces of real emotion from her subject the mask contrasted sharply.

Lyn would have uttered an 'uh-oh' if she wasn't trying to figure out his next move. But by the knowing and somewhat predatory look in the con man's eyes her face had said it for her. So much for keeping up an open and unassuming expression.

Caffrey gave a little casual shrug and followed with a lovely smile.

"What can I say, I'm a romantic." His eyes flickered down to her left hand and the predatory gleam flared for a second before being pushed back down behind charming and enticing. Lyn knew this wasn't going to be pretty. "Speaking of, congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you." Good, her voice hadn't sounded defensive.

"You weren't wearing that lovely ring when we first met. Do you usually go around with out it?"

Lyn repressed a frown. She didn't like remembering their first encounter.

"No. I just got off a trans-Atlantic flight when Peter called me in. I was tired and forgot about it."

Caffrey smiled a slow, snake-oil smile. "You find yourself forgetting about your fiancé often?" There was nothing explicitly suggestive about the statement but Lyn felt the sexual overtones glide over her skin like a caress. She had underestimated what this con man could do when he turned his full attention to trying to seduce someone. Which was a stupid thing to do after reading about the things he had gotten good people to do with this technique alone.

* * *

This experience hadn't been as bad as Neal expected. It really was rather fun. It didn't feel like she was being invasive, just curious, which was probably a trick but interesting to watch. Marrow was easy to talk to, another trick of the trade, he was sure. She wasn't condescending or disapproving when she wanted to talk about some of his cons and well, he never could resist showing off a bit. The girl was good, very good, he had found himself relaxing, being less evasive and not really caring. But then she had brought up Kate and he remembered why the psychologist was here. Jeeze, the redhead was better than he thought if he had forgotten why they were even sitting in that obnoxiously neutral room.

It was time to get back on track. Simple charm and friendliness didn't seem to work well on her, he had to go with what he _knew_ affected her cool. And maybe he was feeling a little vindictive after the shot at Kate.

So he took a shot at her engagement, at her initial reaction to his "thrall" and laced his last question with enough suggestion and invitation to make lesser women fall over. Marrow was not a lesser woman but she was human. Neal watched in satisfaction as her fingers twitched in the impulse to clench and her nostrils flared to take a deeper breath and her throat constricted as she swallowed.

But his victory was short lived. Her eyes, which were momentarily glassy turned hard and cold. Neal's mind worked at lightening speeds to process this unexpected emotion. The only thing he could think of was she was counteracting his heavy charm. She was already affected, she couldn't go back to neutral but she could redirect the emotion and the closest one was anger.

"Never." Her voice was final and controlled and filled with challenge- 'Anytime, anyplace, Caffrey.' And he was really, _really_ tempted to take her up on that offer. She slipped on a smile just as conniving as his own. Therapy was done; neither of them was going to be able to retreat now. They were too similar in that regard: too capable of faking emotion and too capable of reading it.

They exchanged pleasantries and she thanked him for his time and Neal found himself being dismissed. He had been wrong before; she was no girl.

* * *

Cruiz and Jones exchanged wary looks outside of their boss' office. Peter had been growly all morning, something that usually leads to one of his famous 'moods'. And neither of them wanted to be the subject of that.

"Hey guys." Neal's friendly greeting bounded up the steps along with him. The pair of agents was immediately relieved. Neal would handle Peter. Or make it worse, you never could tell which it would be.

"Hey, Neal," Jones greeted him with a friendly smile of his own. "Peter's in his office." He gave the likeable ex-con an encouraging pat on the shoulder before retreating back to the relative safety of his desk.

"Yeah, have fun!" Cruiz pushed the stack of files she was holding at her favorite adversary and followed Jones' example.

Peter was bent over his desk furiously scribbling at the paper in front of him, trying to establish a sensible pattern in these credit card frauds. The sound of the door opening without a preceding knock told him it could only be one person. Even Hughes knocked before entering. The agent resisted the urge to snap his head up in lieu of looking too eager.  
"Neal," the older man greeted. He finished his sentence before slowly raising his head to regard his friend. "How did it go?" The young man in question dropped the files down on the desk before settling himself in a chair and propping his feet up on Peter's desk. Peter frowned at him but Neal wouldn't be deterred.

"It…" Peter got a little nervous whenever Neal paused like that; it usually meant he was trying to hide something and then Peter was going to have to do all this extra work to figure out exactly what the kid was being evasive about when he should have just said so in the beginning. "…wasn't what I expected."

Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise. The answer wasn't smart-ass enough to be an evasion.

"She's interesting." Neal was contemplative. Peter wasn't sure he liked a contemplative Neal.

"Interesting?'

"Yeah." Peter's charge shifted his gaze from unfocused in the distance to meet the agents. He gave a small half smile half smirk. "I'm working on it."


	6. Analyze This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So, how did it go?" Moz's natural arch mocking tone was the first thing that greeted Neal as he entered his suite. Neal didn't even pause his entry into his living quarters. He didn't really feel like trying to explain it again so soon. He was hoping he would have some time alone to review, analyze and plan. No such luck. But when a con was going in an unexpected direction too quickly to change course you had to go with it, make it up as you went along and hope for a reprieve.

"So, how did it go?" Moz's natural arch mocking tone was the first thing that greeted Neal as he entered his suite. Neal didn't even pause his entry into his living quarters. He didn't really feel like trying to explain it again so soon. He was hoping he would have some time alone to review, analyze and plan. No such luck. But when a con was going in an unexpected direction too quickly to change course you had to go with it, make it up as you went along and hope for a reprieve.

"Fine."

Moz gave the con man his most skeptical look.

"Fine? That's awfully descriptive." The shorter man was by Neal's side quicker than many people thought he could move. Out of thin air Mozzie produced a small flashlight. "Ok, now open your eyes wide…" Neal brushed Moz's hands away and backed up.

"Jesus, Moz, I'm not drugged!" Neal turned away and moved to sit on the couch. "Would you stop with that?!" Neal let out an exasperated breath and sunk into the cushions.

Moz threw up his hands in defeat and mirrored Neal's actions. "Fine, have it your way." Neal could feel Mozzie's gaze bore into the side of his face. "So, did you find anything out about Mentor? Kate?"

Neal was about to open his mouth to respond but found that he had nothing to say. Neal felt that sensation come over him when he finally put all the pieces of a case together, like a veil had been lifted and he could see clearly. It was probably the subsequent humorless laughter pouring out that made Mozzie whip out the flashlight again. He hadn't gotten any information at all. And he hadn't even thought about it until Moz mentioned it.

"Moz, get that thing out of my face. And no, I didn't get anything out of her. She mentioned Kate and I got defensive and then she closed up shop."

"Defensive? You mean you went on the offensive."

"Yeah, and she knew it." Neal shook his head and pursed his mouth. "She got me relaxed and focused on her, I-" Neal trailed off, unsettled.

Mozzie shook his head. On the one hand this FBI shrink had gotten him to, if temporarily, stop obsessing about the questionable Kate; on the other she was an FBI shrink. A funny woman FBI shrink.

"She knew I was beginning a move and she stopped the session." Neal was glad Peter wasn't here. He'd say Neal was pouting and to 'cowboy up'. Neal _was not_ pouting. He wasn't. Really. "Peter warned me about that." When Peter was right where Neal was wrong the con man didn't really mind. He had learned to respect Peter's intelligence long ago. He just really didn't like being this slow catching up with his handler. Or admitting it, especially to Mozzie. His bespeckled friend would probably find some convoluted way to connect it to Marrow drugging him. And shine that flashlight in his face again.

"The Suit warning you against the shrink? Psht. I don't think so."

Neal rolled his eyes at Moz's incessant paranoia. Normally it was entertaining, could even be helpful but Neal just wanted his reprieve already.

* * *

Peter was trying to concentrate on what Elizabeth was saying, he really was, but most of his brain was occupied with trying to analyze Neal's reaction to Lyn. The woman in question had managed to slip out of the building before he could confront her and the day had been too busy to track her down. What the hell did Caffrey mean '_she's interesting'_? After three years of studying Neal Peter felt he had a fairly secure grasp on the kid's process. And the word 'interesting' coming out of Neal Caffrey's mouth generally lead to sleepless nights, migraines, and marital problems for Peter. So if he could figure this out early in the game there was a good chance he could bypass all three.

Or by the look on Elizabeth's face, the I-just-said-something-completely-insane-to-see-if-you-are-paying-attention-and-you-failed look, he could at least skip the first two. Well, just the first one. Or not, he might be banished to the couch.

"El, I am so sorr-" Peter was silenced by his wife raising a warning hand.

"Peter, don't. Just tell me what's wrong with Neal."

"Wha- what makes you think this is about Neal?' Why was he trying to backpedal now? Did he _really_ think it would work? El gave him a stern look.

"Because I know you even better than you know him."

Peter took a deep breath and fixed his lovely wife with a hopefully sympathetic inducing expression. He had seen Neal do it a thousand times, he was pretty sure he could mimic it effectively.

"Lyn interviewed him today and I have no idea how it went. All I got out of Neal was a 'she's interesting' and interesting and Neal don't always play well together." Elizabeth tilted her head in agreement.

"Well what do you think it means?"

The FBI agent sighed. "That he didn't listen to my advice. Again. And he's trying to find a game strategy to play against Lyn because she surprised him and by the amount of thought he was putting into it probably challenged him." Peter ran a hand over his face and then into his cropped hair. "I told him Lyn would be fair to him if he didn't try to con her and- damn it! Doesn't he _ever_ think about the consequences of his actions?!"

El leaned into him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. Either his sympathy look worked or his wife just pitied him.

"Peter, the only thing you can do is wait." Elizabeth looked away thoughtfully for a second and then gave a slow, small smile, the smile that made Peter think that if she wanted, El could have been a very effective criminal. "You're just going to have to think about something else." Peter waited for a suggestion. "Well," the brunette women stood, "I'm going upstairs, getting in bed."

Was his wife _sauntering_ up the stairs? Peter looked at his watch. His brow furrowed; it was only 8 o'clock. The FBI agent sat on the couch in a slight dazed confusion and then: Oh. Peter might have reflected on the discrepancy between his proficiency at his job and inability to read his wife if he wasn't so busy rushing up the stairs and tugging at his tie.

* * *

To Lyn, this was a bad idea. Her official report was only half way written and sitting on her computer at home. She had tried telling Agent Hughes this on the phone but he insisted that she come in and give her initial findings verbally anyways. And so, to Lyn, this was a bad idea. In the tight pressure of a man hunt or an interrogation there was an intense focus- what's his next move, how do we make him talk- and she felt comfortable giving advice on the fly. But during a more broad profile she liked to have things written out first to focus her to she could be dispassionate and analytical when she presented her findings. Right now her analysis mostly jumbled, hyper energized thoughts, she hadn't been allowed the time to lay them out and put them in order. She would also liked to have more time interviewing Caffrey one on one.

And yet here she was, waiting in Hughes' office with Peter for his boss to come out of whatever super-secret meeting he was in. Peter was constantly shifting in his seat and he kept glancing at her but not saying anything. His nerves were acting up her nerves and she _really_ didn't need that right now. Lyn wondered if telling him to 'spit it out already' would be too rude for this early in the morning.

The redhead tried to stifle a yawn. She and Roger hadn't gotten much sleep. She had been hyped up on her interview and subsequent mental labor; it had _absolutely nothing_ to do with Caffrey's parting shot at her, and had immediately jumped Roger when he came home. Later, much later, she had confessed her motivations to him and her fiancé and feigned hurt at being so "used". Which then lead to playfulness, which then lead to her being in her unideal profiling state.

The door opening behind her and her currently irritating companion cutting off her thought process. Both Lyn and Peter stood as Hughes entered followed by another agent.

"Agent Burke, Dr. Marrow, this is Agent Samson from OPR."

Lyn watched Peter's eyes narrow and his hands slide to his hips, one hand near his firearm. It was a meta-expression of aggression. By Hughes' more dominant stance and tone towards Agent Samson it was clear this man was not an equal but lower on the hierarchy of agents. So Peter's aggression was probably not directed at the agent as a person but at OPR.

"What is OPR doing here?" If humans were capable of spitting sparks Peter would be doing so right now. Agent Samson turned his body slightly towards Peter but didn't entirely face him and rolled his shoulders back while tilting his chin upwards slightly. Apparently the OPR agent thought he was equal if not better than Peter.

"I was ordered here and that's all you need to know." The man's entire attitude could only be described as a sneer and Lyn immediately disliked him. She decided to just call him 'The OPR Lackey".

"Peter," Hughes voice was authoritative, "let's just sit and listen to what Dr. Marrow has to say." Peter followed orders but the tension in his body didn't dissipate.

Because there were only two guest chairs The OPR Lackey just leaned on a low table to Lyn's left. Lyn didn't feel comfortable not having The OPR Lackey in her line of sight. She couldn't analyze exactly why she felt this way because now she had to concentrate on Caffrey if she wanted to come off as competent. She took as deep as a breath as she could through her nose as to not alert anyone of her state of mind. Lyn mentally scanned the information she had and decided it was best to start at the beginning.

"Neal Caffrey is very smart. His IQ is probably around genius level if anyone bothers to test him. I've poured over his school transcripts and his grades are exemplary. But all the comments teachers attached to them say that he is essentially the class clown, pulling pranks, telling jokes in the middle of a lesson, using attention grabbers like that. However he has never been expelled, suspended, or was ever sent to detention. The schools let his antics slide. And that's where it all started."

Hughes raised an eyebrow. Apparently he thought she was over analyzing things.

"It's where his whole sense of entitlement starts. It was implied to him at an early age that if you are smart enough, clever enough you could do anything you want. The older he got and the bigger he went the more firmly that idea planted in his head. Because he always got away with it. To him if he can outsmart a person, a security system, whatever, then he deserves to have their money or artwork or whatever his goal is; it's he reward. In Caffrey's version of reality he's done nothing wrong."

The Lackey scoffed. Lyn would have sent him a dirty look but she was concentrating on making all of this make sense.

"Most criminals age out at around 18 or so. They begin to get jobs, start families and the like; they begin to accumulate things that they don't want to loose. Caffrey bypasses this by making his job and, well not family but support system part of his criminal activities."

"So what? He's hopeless?" Hughes did not sound pleased. Lyn knew she had to resolve this quickly or it might spiral out of control, especially with The Lackey in the room.

"No, absolutely not. He may never think in conventional terms like you or Agent Burke do, which isn't really a bad thing as it's part of why his closing rates on cases is so high, but he _can_ live a law-abiding life." Mostly. Probably.

She could feel the approval radiating off of Peter and it boosted her mood.

"Oh?" It was the overt mocking in The OPR Lackey's tone that probably made Hughes shoot him a warning look. Lyn didn't even pay him any mind but just continued.

"He's attached to the people here, much more attached than he'll admit, even to himself. But he is connecting with people outside of the criminal world, which is a very good sign."

"Well what did he say? Specifics."

Lyn turned her focus to The Lackey and gave him her best stonewall expression.

"Sorry, I can't tell you that."

"Excuse me?" The Lackey had definitely not been expecting that response. "You were hired to interview him and report back to us."

"No, I was hired to give you my analysis of him. Which I am. Specifics are protected by patient/doctor privilege." Ooooo, Lackey was _not_ happy. "Besides, I don't have any of this recorded, so you couldn't get your hands on the specifics even if it wasn't protected."

"Then how do we know he hasn't conned you too? That you're just saying what he wants you to say because he flashed you a pretty smile."

"Samson!" Hughes' tone was fierce and the Lackey agent immediately backed down. The senior agent turned to Lyn. "While all of this is very illuminating we should probably address the Bureau's main concerns." Lyn read the expression on Hughes' face as: "so OPR can get the hell out of my office." The psychologist was happy to comply.

"Alright. There is no indication that Neal Caffrey has any agenda to sabotage the FBI. He does not hate the FBI. In fact the person he seems to have connected most strongly with is Agent Burke."

"And what are his chances of running?"

Lyn sighed softly and leaned back in her chair. Peter was not going to like this but she had been hired because she could be fair and impartial.

"If Caffrey feels that the trust built up between him and Agent Burke has been violated he will most likely run. Kate Moreau is also a factor, a large factor in whether or not he would escape custody. All I know is that if his attachment to her supercedes his attachment to his new life then he will run at the opportunity to be with her." Lyn chanced a look at Peter. His shoulders were slumped but his face was determined. He agreed with her assessment but was resolute in his quest to change the con man. For the sake of the agent Lyn hoped that attitude never faltered.

"Well, I think that should satisfy OPR." Lyn seriously doubted it but she wasn't going to argue with Hughes, though The Lackey looked like he wanted to. "Agent Samson." The dismissal in Hughes voice was only amplified when he nodded to the door. The Lackey shot Peter a parting sneer before exiting the room.

* * *

Peter felt that for all of Neal's games and manipulations Lyn had still given him a fair deal. The agent suppressed the urge to slump in his seat in relief; this could have been much worse.

"I have to say Dr. Marrow, I'm impressed. All of that in two days." Peter's boss' reservations about Lyn seemed to have evaporated. Which was, to Peter, a go ahead sign for his next move.

"Thank you, Agent Hughes, but honestly most of that was just reiteration of what Peter already found. I only had time to make initial findings on my own." It was times like this, when Lyn would rather be correct than receive praise, that reminded Peter of why, if having a shrink around at all, he wanted it to be her.

"Still, it was impressive. Which is why I'm giving Peter to go ahead on this one." Hughes nodded at him and Peter focused all of his attention on drawing Lyn in.

"I want you to work for White Collar."

"What?" Lyn went from impressive professional to indignant teenager in 2.5 seconds. Peter glanced back at Hughes to see his reaction to Lyn's change in demeanor but the senior agent seemed more amused than anything.

"Maybe to two of you should discuss this further in your office."

"Yes sir." Peter got up and steered the woman out of his boss' office before she could do any damage. When in the relative safety of his own office space, thank God Caffrey was at his own desk in the bullpen, he let go of her.

"Peter-" Lyn's voice was full of warning.

"Listen to my proposal first." It was probably only Lyn's professional respect for him that stopped her from snapping. "It's a six month contract with the FBI, you would be on my team helping with investigations." Lyn was not fooled.

"The FBI already has profilers, Peter. _Use them_." The woman gave a tired sigh and he let her continue. "As interesting and intriguing as all of this has been and as much as I would have liked to have more time interviewing Caffrey-"

"And I'm giving you that opportunity."

"No, you're trying to use me to help you keep Caffrey in line. I'm not a babysitter, Peter." Yeah, Peter liked Lyn a lot but he resented her implying that babysitting was _his_ job. So he let it show and was satisfied when she shifted uncomfortably.

"This isn't just about Neal, Lyn. We could use a second expert on criminal psychology- a _civilian_ expert," Peter amended when she was about to point out he already had a criminal for that. "The word about Neal is spreading through the underground, it would be better if we had a profiler who wouldn't arouse suspicion. And you like working here. We both know it. And we both know you saw that Neal is a good guy." Lyn relaxed and rolled her eyes at Peter's ending lighter expression.

"Oh don't get me wrong, Peter. I think he's an immature narcissist whose skewed idea of right and wrong border on psychosis. But he's not a monster." Lyn closed her eyes for a second and her muscled seemed to relax under her skin, which Peter took as a good sign. "I need to talk it over with Roger, my fiancé, I'll get back to you."

Peter gave her a smile. "Yes, yes, this is good. Go." He began to herd her towards the door but she was laughing lightly so he knew she didn't mind.

"Fine, fine, don't be so pushy. Bye, Peter."

The agent sat leisurely in his chair, hands behind his head and feet kicked out. For once everything was going in the direction he wanted. Which usually was a sign that things were going to derail horribly soon but Peter decided to just bask in the moment. Until, of course the inevitable happened and the master of derailment, Neal Caffrey, poked his head through the door.

* * *

Neal was starting to get edgy. He has seen Peter and Marrow go into Hughes' office and then Hughes and some agent he didn't know follow. The unknown agent left in a huff so that was either a very good sign or a very bad one. Then Marrow was practically dragged to Peter's office by the man himself and he didn't know what to make of that. He wished the walls weren't made of glass; it made covert eavesdropping almost impossible.

When Neal saw the redhead leave Peter's office he ducked his head down and pretended to work while reaching out with his peripherals to see if she was going to walk by his desk. Ah, she was. And she was slowing down to talk to him.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey." Neal took a second to marvel at her ability to maintain dignity in the face of someone who damaged it. Neal stood and let his face slip into his reflexive charming smile.

"Morning. What was that all about?" Neal nodded towards the upper floor. Marrow tilted her head slightly and a slow, toothless smile appeared.

"You."

Neal's eyebrows shot up. Was she _flirting_ with him? His smile got wider.

"Oh, what about me?" Neal perched sideways on his desk leaned forward over the table top. The toothless smile was suddenly filled with pearly whites.

"Sorry, can't say." Her tone was perky and had a triumphant lit to it that echoed 'ha-ha'. "You might have better luck with Peter though." Neal reflexively glanced at the agent's office door and when he looked back the slippery woman was sailing out the department doors. So that was a 'no' on the flirting then.

Well, might as well see if the little tease was right; it's not like he actually _wanted_ to sit still and do paperwork.

"Hey partner, how did it go?" Neal watched Peter go from lounging to alert, preparing for anything the con man might throw at him. It could be irritating sometimes how well matched he and Peter were.

"Well you didn't screw yourself over." Uh-oh, Peter was using that half irritated half disappointed voice that always made Neal internally squirm. It made him feel all of 10 years old with scraped knees and dirt on his face when he was supposed to stay clean for Sunday mass.

But Neal played it off, like he always does. "Good to know." The younger man sat in his usual chair and leaned his elbows on the desk, the picture of attentiveness. "So what did she say about me?"

Peter rolled his eyes and began to flip through some of the papers on his desk. He didn't even look up as he spoke. "She called you a narcissist." The agent tried to hide his satisfied smirk at Neal's less than happy expression but the ex-con saw it anyways.

So that was a 'hell no' on the flirting.


	7. Love is a Many Splendid Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just so lull and waves knows, their e-mail didn't show up in their review or else I would have written them.**

**Just so lull and waves knows, their e-mail didn't show up in their review or else I would have written them.**

Lyn didn't cook often. It was ironically out of respect of her fiancé. When she cooked the kitchen tended to explode in a multitude of, according to said fiancé, unnecessary plates, bowls, utensils, pans and so forth, all of them used and in need of washing and bits of ingredients strewn everywhere. The first time Roger came home while she decided to make dinner he, well, his accent got so thick she began to giggle which didn't help the situation at all. It was one of his quirks; he like things neat and ordered and he couldn't understand how someone so "willowy" and "delicate" could make so much chaos. To her relief he decided it was endearing.

But tonight she decided to break tradition and break out the kitchenware. She would just have to clean as she cooked. Ulch. Cleaning was _not_ on her list of things she even moderately tolerated. But Roger was on the top of the list of things she loved with great intensity so she got over it.

Her brilliant plan to cook and clean for her future husband to soften him up was rudely interrupted by the man himself. Damn it, he was early.

"Hey, honey. Mmmm, that smells nice." Lyn heard the heavy, male footsteps stop before they entered the kitchen. The woman winced. "Ok, what did you do?" His voice was duly suspicious but when Lyn poked her head through the cut out she put on a hurt expression.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Roger ignored her and began to inspect the apartment.

"Did you _clean_? Dear god, Lyn, did you _kill_ someone?"

Lyn's jaw dropped. "_Roger_!"

The aforementioned man threw up his hands in peace.

"What? You have to admit, it's suspicious."

Lyn rolled her eyes and decided to just tell him about the job, her buttering up plan had been effectively ruined.

"I was offered a six month contract with the FBI's White Collar division. I'd be working with Peter and his team."

Roger's eyebrows knit and he frowned. "I don't like you working there, it's dangerous."

Lyn suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Please, this is the White Collar division. I'll be profiling art snobs and rogue accountants." Actually, much more of Peter's cases involved gunfire than she had expected but her fiancé didn't need to know that.

"And what about the mysterious Peter? I've never met him. How am I supposed to entrust you to him if I don't know him?"

_Entrust her to him?_ Lyn shook her head. This was not the time for a semantics battle. "God, Peter's not mysterious! You want to meet him? I'll send him an invitation to the wedding, you can meet him then."

"And this con man?" Lyn watched her fiancé roll his shoulders backwards, like he was trying to hide a much more telling physical reaction. "I don't have a good feeling about him. And you and him." If Lyn were a violent person she would have thrown the pan resting next to her hand at him. But she wasn't, and she reminded herself that she loved all of the blonde architect, even his irrational jealousy. Oh, and was he _ever_ irrationally jealous.

"I will never fall in love with Neal Caffrey." She could want him, given that he catches her off guard, hell, after enough time she could probably like him, but Lyn would never love him.

Roger must have seen the conviction in her face and heard it in her voice because his southern traditionalist hackles smoothed down and he immediately looked guilty. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her upper arms and touched his forehead to hers.

"God, Lyn, I'm sorry. I know you are more than capable of doing this job and I trust you implicitly but I can't stand the idea of anything happening to you, of you running around with men I don't know and don't trust- I don't care if that upsets your wacky feminist views, it's how I feel."

Lyn tipped her head to give her lover, her friend, her fiancé a kiss.

"I know. I love you too."

With a low sigh Roger let go of her.

"I'll finish dinner, you can relax."

The tall man took to the kitchen and Lyn sat wearily on the couch. Fighting with Roger either fired her up for days or completely wiped her out. Looks like today was the latter. The redhead thought about what she had said about Caffrey to Roger and found now that she had calmed that it was still true.

Lyn was a settle down and have a couple of kids kind of girl. And you can't do either of those things with someone who was still a child. Caffrey was selfish and arrogant and narcissistic and ignorant of the consequences of his actions. He was also brilliant and sometimes downright heroic but he was far from a fully formed adult. For such a complex person, his psychological make-up was relatively simple. All it took was a little child psychology.

* * *

It was one of those rare nights where Peter was home on time and he resisted his compulsion to bring work with him. They were lounging on the couch, El resting on top of her beloved husband, back to chest; El didn't even care that Peter was yelling at the referees on television. He was absently rubbing his thumb in circles on her stomach and El melted a little more.

Everything would be perfect except for the fact she had been married to Peter too long. Not in the 'bud fell off the stem' kind of way, but in the 'becoming the same person' kind of way. The contentment was beginning to ebb away and El couldn't believe she actually missed hearing about the FBI at a time like this. But what had started out as a wonderful evening was slowly being ruined by the niggling need to know what had happened with Neal's evaluation. But El didn't want to ruin the moment so she stayed quiet, hoping that the compulsion to investigate would leave as suddenly as it had come.

Five minutes later it had intensified to the point El began to fidget in her unreasonably comfortable position. The thumb stopped its ministrations.

"El? You ok?" Peter's voice was slow and had a hint of teasing in it so she playfully elbowed him.

"I'm fine."

"El." His voice was knowing. Damn, the one time she _wanted_ her husband to be oblivious. The woman felt his chest start to rumble in quiet laughter beneath her. "You want to know what Lyn said about Neal, don't you?"

El gave a dramatic sigh. "It's killing me." The quiet rumbling turned into full laughter. El knocked her head back on his chest to show her annoyance. "It's not funny!"

"No, of course it's not." El didn't think he sounded even remotely serious. Peter picked up the remote and muted the game. "It was a fair evaluation. Basically Neal's biggest issue is his sense of entitlement and he'd run given a good enough opportunity to be with Kate. But she thinks he can be rehabilitated." Peter chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just how Lyn described Neal when we were alone."

"And to think you were worried." El knew she probably spoke too soon but her curiosity had been sated and she didn't want to disrupt this precious alone time with her husband again. So she settled back for some quiet contemplation.

The woman considered Neal and sighed internally. Honestly, she worried about that boy. He was so dead set on finding Kate that El was afraid he would just bolt one day and break poor Peter's heart. Her husband had been afraid of bringing her and the loveable con man together out of fear that she would get too attached but El thought Peter should have been more concerned about himself. Under the strict, professional duties of being Neal's handler Peter had the biggest paternal soft spot for the younger man. After the glow of victory the guilty charge for bond forgery had faded from Peter's eyes El had seen clear as day that Peter honestly didn't like the idea of someone with so much _potential_, someone who under different circumstances would have been a friend was locked up for four years. Peter was a lawman to the core and believed that Neal should be punished for his crimes, but he had looked so frustrated and sad when he told El "that stupid, brilliant kid is ruining his life".

Maybe with Lyn's backup Peter would feel more secure about Neal. Poor baby, that con man isn't going to know what hit him. That is of course, if Peter was right and Lyn and Neal together wasn't anything to worry about. But El had a feeling it was about to get very interesting in the White Collar offices. Well, _more_ interesting.

* * *

The first time Neal had seen Elizabeth Burke was in her and Peter's wedding announcement. When Peter had first stared pursuing him the con man was determined to learn just as much about the fed as the fed was learning about him. In one of his research session he had stumbled over a very nice color picture of Peter and his then bride to be. His first thought was that he and Peter had very similar tastes in women. Elizabeth could have been Kate's sister. He studied the picture a little longer and he could see that they were both insanely happy and equally insanely in love.

They had been married barely three years before Peter had been assigned his case and Neal knew that he was keeping the federal officer away from his fledgling marriage and lovely wife. The picture of the two of them in the newspaper popped up every once and a while in his mind's eye and Neal always felt an inexplicable stab of guilt. He had been planning on sending Elizabeth two dozen roses with a 'My Sincerest Apologies' card but Peter had gotten too close to him and Kate too fast and he never had time to put the plan in motion.

Neal had found himself comparing his and Kate's relationship against that beautiful photograph. Were they just as happy as the image the FBI agent and his wife presented? Were they just as in love? Neal was. Neal _loved_ Kate. Neal _worshiped_ Kate. Kate was his ideal, his fantasy, his soul mate. Their love was every passion filled word prose and poetry, every bold color and brushstroke, every glimmer and shine of every jewel. At least that's how Neal remembered it. But the fervor he felt in his search for his lost love told him that it wasn't a figment of his wild imagination, that it had been real, tangible, he just needed to _find her_ and _touch her_ again. He had spent almost four years straining to penetrate that half inch of plastic the separated their hands as they reached for each other. He had never succeeded. He would succeed now.

Honestly, Neal had expected Peter to be more sympathetic to his quest to find Kate. After all, Peter and Elizabeth's marriage had been his standard for love for the past seven years; surely the FBI agent knew what it was like to love with this kind of intensity. Instead Neal had found an ally in Peter's wife. After officially meeting the woman Neal could not figure out how his handler had ever convinced her to marry him but the con man was eternally grateful that he had. Elizabeth was classy, friendly, generous and perfectly willing to undermine her husband's authority. Kate would have adored her.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his somewhat angst-ridden thoughts. Only one person would knock so politely at this time of night. June's warm and smiling face at his doorway confirmed his thoughts. His landlady and pseudo caretaker was holding a tray of what smelled like hot chocolate and- were those chocolate chip cookies? God, if June kept this up he would never be able to leave.

"Good evening, dear. I couldn't sleep and saw your light."

Neal let a genuine smile show and stepped aside to let the lady in.

"You're always welcome, June. It is your house."

The two socialites, well one socialite and one ex-convict particularly good at pretending to be a socialite, sat at the table.

"No Harvesham tonight?"

"No, not tonight." Neal bit into a cookie- heavenly, just like they smelled- and then perched his chin on his hand, fixing the older, elegant lady with a lazy grin. "Tell me about how you and Byron met." June twittered and covered it up with a sip of hot chocolate.

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that."

Neal put on a mock offended expression, his hand to his heart and June laughed softly.

"Why, June, why would you deny me what is undoubtedly a wonderfully romantic story?" This elicited another laugh from his landlady, louder this time so Neal knew she would give in.

"Well, I was actually dating someone else at the time. His name was Jeremy Craven, a very nice man. He had taken me to this very swank dance club in the city. He had heard that Sinatra and his pack of friends frequented the place and wanted to impress me. I loved to dance and wasn't all that concerned with who was there or not." June let out a soft, delighted chuckle. "I was barely twenty. I just wanted to get on the floor. Well if Jeremy had one fault it was that he didn't have much stamina."

Neal wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and June swatted at him with one of the cloth napkins on the tray. "On the dance floor! Don't be fresh. Anyways, Jeremy and I were sitting at a table and this beautiful man saunters over from across the room and asks me to dance. I was a bit confused when Jermyn didn't put up a fight at all but then I saw he had come over from Sinatra's table and, well, Jeremy was a fan. Oh, Byron was a wonderful dancer. After the very first song he looked me straight in the eye and said: "Your boyfriend is going to be so sorry he let me dance with you; I plan on stealing you away from him." The older woman shook her head. "I laughed at him. I thought he was joking." June leaned back in her chair and gave a wistful sigh. "Oh, I loved him so very much." Neal watched her face fall from dreamy to sad and he covered one of her hands with his own. She was a kindred spirit, wounded by a lost love. The older lady put her other hand over his and smiled at him. "Thank you for insisting I tell you. Now drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold."

* * *

Lyn walked into her new office and set down her bag and green wool coat and inspected her new space. It was much smaller than Peter's, a loaner office but it would do just fine. The woman was testing out her chair when she spotted a lounging figure in her doorway. Neal Caffrey was standing with her door open, preparing to knock, which was a little unnecessary since he was already inside. Lyn fixed him with her friendliest smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey."

The con artist returned the smile.

"Good morning, Dr. Marrow. Peter wants to see us."

Lyn nodded and walked around her desk towards Caffrey's still lounging body. "Our first case together," the con man continued. "Are you ready to begin?"

Lyn couldn't help but let the ghost of a smirk to fall over her friendly smile.

"Absolutely."


	8. The Beginning

Peter slapped down a file large enough to rattle the coffee mugs on conference table. When he was satisfied that everyone's attention was on him he straightened and began his lecture.

"A forged Degas was discovered by a forensic team when The Met sent it for restorations."

"Which piece?" Of course Neal would interrupt before the agent even got to the body of his speech. Couldn't the kid just sit still and shut up and let Peter get to that part in his own time?

The older man looked at Neal's carefully contrived innocent/curious face. That usually meant he was trying to hide how invested he was in something. So no, Neal probably couldn't wait. He had no impulse control.

"Ballet Rehersal, 1874."

Jones let out a soft 'ah' of recognition but Cruz's brow furrowed, trying to remember if she knew that one. Peter spared a glance and Lyn. The redhead was just sitting calmly and attentively.

"The interesting part is there seems to be some speculation about the forger."

"Isn't there usually?" Peter ignored Cruz's sarcasm. The mean age of his team was too young for him to get twitchy over every attitude slip.

"Yeah but this is a little more complicated." Peter tossed packets of photographs on the table. Some were infrared of the underlying drawing and base coats and some were of the completed work. As expected Neal noticed it first.

"The drawing, the base coat, and the top layers were done by different people." Neal was semi-bent over the photos, face intent and that half admiring look Neal got when he saw a particularly good forgery plastered all over his face. Professional appreciation? Despite that fact that Peter really didn't like it when his charge got too excited over a crime the agent liked seeing Neal's guard down. It allowed him to concentrate on his own work rather than constantly worrying about what was going on in that pretty-boy head of his and whether or not he was going to have to arrest him for it.

"Oh, really?" Cruz never did let an opportunity to jab Neal slide, which Peter usually enjoyed. Neal just graciously held up a close-up of the underlying drawing.

"The radius of these strokes is very short, we're looking at someone with small hands and wrists." He held up a photo of the base paint. "The person who did this is left-handed. The sketch artist is right handed." Finally the completed work. "The person who finished off the painting is right-handed but the strokes are too large to belong to whoever drew the outline."

Peter suppressed the urge to pat Neal on the head. It was exactly what the forensic analysts had said.

"So what, we have a band of forgers? Don't these guys usually work alone?" Jones immediately sent an apologetic glance at Neal for using 'these guys'. The young agent always felt strange talking about white-collar criminals around Neal, like he should apologize for not being politically correct about their suspects. It was a rather inconvenient impulse to have while working on Peter's team.

Neal gave a casual one-shouldered shrug. "That's true. But there are some things that take specialists, though none of the things here do."

"Why would you specialize where no specialization is needed? Interesting." All eyes focused on Lyn but she didn't continue.

"Do you have anything to add to that?" Lyn spared a fleeting glance at Peter but quickly returned to staring off into space.

"Hmm. It's all very-" The redhead waved a hand around in the air distractedly. "-Industrial Revolution right now. I'll get back to you." Peter saw Neal smirk amusedly at her but the young woman ignored the con man. Cruz looked slightly confused, as if she just noticed Lyn was sitting at the table.

"Who are you exactly?"

Crap. Had he forgotten to officially introduce Lyn? The woman in question just smiled at the female agent and stuck out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Lyn Marrow. Agent Burke hired me as a profiler." Cruz was definitely sizing the taller woman up but her expression was friendly enough and she shook the outstretched hand so Peter didn't waste time trying to play camp counselor. "Good morning, Agent Jones."

When had they met? Peter shook his head. It didn't matter right now.

"So we have at least three perps-"

"Oh, there are definitely more than three people." At Lyn's outburst Peter gave up and sat down. This had turned into a group discussion long ago.

\-------

"Oh?" Lyn didn't react to the amusement in Caffrey's voice other than to turn her head and fix him with a confident, professional stare.

"This group has an has someone directing it and whoever they are they aren't an artist. Groups, especially groups of exclusively creative people do not work efficiently without an organized leader."

"And why not?" Caffrey's eyes lit up and a smirk was twitching at the corner of his mouth. He was enjoying calling her out in front of everyone, that arrogant, smug- No, it was not time for name-calling.

"If it were just a band of artists that forgery would never have been completed. Forgers are generally arrogant in their abilities- a necessity if they want to be successful. You can't forge The Mona Lisa without thinking you can paint it just as well as da Vinci." The movement was miniscule, like he was trying to hide it, but Lyn caught Caffrey's nod of assent. "Put three arrogant artists in a room and ask them to work on the same painting and it's going to be a disaster. Unless, of course, they have someone outside their personality type telling them what to do."

Caffrey's focus had zeroed in on her rather than the general group acknowledgement his body language had suggested before. Lyn wasn't sure what he was going to say next but she doubted it would really be about the case. This had probably stopped being a group meeting to him after her inferred body count.

"Well," at Peter's voice both she and the con man across from her almost gave themselves whiplash turning their attention to the agent's unexpected vocalization, "that's very nice, and everything, but we have work to do. Lyn," he have her a stern look but Lyn had no idea why. She was just doing her job, "keep working on those profiles. Jones, Cruz research the gallery in Connecticut, I want to know if they were in on it. You," Peter pointed at Caffrey, "are going to go over the forensics and shipping details of that painting." Jones and Cruz left obediently but Neal waited to hold the door for Lyn.

"Thank you, Mr. Caffrey."

"You're welcome, Dr. Marrow."

Lyn could practically feel Peter rolling his eyes.

\-------

Mozzie was sprawled out on the couch in Neal's loft, humming along to the Bach coming out of June's state-of-the-art sound system. This was so much better than his storage unit. The lounging man lazily reached over to the coffee table to pluck a slice of nectarine from the artfully designed tray of snacks some of June's staff had provided him with to "tide him over" until June returned for their poker tournament. Neal's benefactor was a slippery player but Mozzie was confident that his new bluff-counter-bluff maneuver would put him in the black.

The buzzing of his cell phone drew the con man out of planning his attack. Only one person had the number to this particular cell phone. He had many.

"Yes, my dear friend and confidant Neal?" Mozzie could hear Neal's soft chuckle over the line.

"Hey, Moz. I need to ask for a favor." His voice was hushed so Mozzie surmised he was still in the FBI building. "Peter's got me drowning in paperwork right now. I need you to find out what you can about a forged Degas that The Met got a few weeks ago."

"Oooo, a Degas, nice."

"Moz."

"I'm just saying. Forging a Degas takes a certain amount of skill."

"Yeah well it looks like three different people worked on this one."

That last bit of information made Mozzie's eyebrows shoot upwards.

"Really?"

"Yeah, look, I don't have a lot of time, Peter's on his way back."

"Yeah, yeah, go play nice with The Man. I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"Thanks Moz. Enjoy June's fruit plate." Mozzie rolled his eyes when Neal hung up. Normally having someone know what you were doing all the time would have him sweeping the place for bugs but it was something Mozzie had learned to accept as part of Neal a long time ago.

The bald man sighed and sat up, popping an apple slice into his mouth. He had work to do.

\-------

Neal hung up his cell phone just as Peter was walking through his office door holding two cups of coffee. Neal would, of course, refuse to drink that FBI swill but it was a nice gesture.

"Done with those forensics yet?" Neal threw the papers down on the desk.

"Yep. They did a good job. I agree with their findings."

"Hmmm." His handler sat across from him in his much more comfortable chair. "What do you think of Lyn's fourth man theory?"

Neal leaned back and began to toss Cruz's stress ball that he had swiped from her desk- just to get a rise out of her- from hand to hand.

"I can't see a reason for the forgery to be done this way without someone commissioning it. So it makes sense."

"Good. I agree with her. Just wanted to make sure we're all on the same page." Neal saw Peter wince after taking a sip of his coffee. That's what he gets for not convincing Hughes to spring for a cappuccino machine. Neal reached for the transportation documents when the older man cleared his throat, stilling the con man's actions. "This thing, this competition or agenda to whatever you have with Lyn, you can't bring it on a case, you know that right?"

"I don't have an agenda, Peter." The agent gave him a hard look. "I'm serious." Neal held up his hands, palms open and poured on the innocence. Peter's expression didn't change.

"Uh-huh. Just don't do it while we're working."

"What? You're not going to try to stop me from executing this alleged agenda?"

"Lyn doesn't need someone to protect her from you. She can do that all on her own."

The con man dramatically covered his heart with his hand. "Protect her from me? Peter! Just what do you think I was planning on doing to her?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I don't know and I don't care. It won't work so don't do it." He enunciated 'don't' and 'do' with finger jabs.

Neal rolled his eyes and went back to his files. This had to be his least favorite part of working for the FBI. Paperwork. What was it with bureaucracies and paperwork? Did they have a vendetta against green technologies? And why did everything have to be in triplicate?

And of course he had plans for Marrow. Peter had every right to be suspicious. But Neal would still misdirect, misinform, and just flat out deny everything his handler threw at him. It was in his nature. And it was fun to match wits with Peter.

Marrow was undoubtedly going to be a long-term project. He didn't want her gone; she could be very useful as an ally. The challenge was getting her to be an ally. She seemed to enjoy their banter- Peter would call it arguing or posturing- so he would keep that up. She was mostly immune to his charms, mostly. He was going to have to get her to connect with him. Facilitating a connection was more important than any line, any game, any physical contact when it came to gaining a mark's trust. Get a mark to identify with you and you were golden. But he had to do it in a way that wouldn't make Marrow suspicious of him. Which meant he was going to have to do this slowly. But that was ok, he could do long term.

"Oh, and Neal?"

"Hmm?" The con man looked up at Peter.

"Return Cruz's stress ball before she shoots you."


	9. New Kids, Old Friends

Lyn sat in Susan's office in the woman's designer bakery picking at her turkey sub while the brunette happily chatted away. Lyn needed a lunch break that didn't involve trying to find her niche in the complex social structure of a federal building. Here, she felt comfortable, listening to Susan's merry babble about brown sugar to flour ratios and her newest employee Raphael.

"…so he's just standing there, all 6 foot Italian muscle-"

Lyn was going to have to put an end to this before she had to file a sexual harassment suit on Raphael's behalf.

"I'm gonna stop you there, sweetheart. You have a crush on him. I got it."

"Crush? I want to use his body as a jungle gym!"

Lyn covered her eyes with her hand and scrunched her nose.

"Please don't." The redhead abandoned her sub for the much more appealing snicker doodles Susan had brought in. The other woman shrugged.

"Ok, I get it, you're not in the mood. So how's it going at the FBI? The day's not even over and you're hiding in my office so I'm going to venture it's been a little rocky?"

Lyn sat back in her chair and tilted her head, considering. "Not really rocky more like weird." Susan gave her a curious look. "It's weird to describe a forger to another forger. Every time he opened his mouth I kept expecting him to discredit something I said. It's going to get some taking used to." Lyn glanced at Susan's face. The woman's eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth was a little parted- a mixture of surprise and confusion. Lyn had gotten too specific without any preamble and her explanation must have not made sense to anyone on the outside.

"I have no idea who you're talking about but I'm on your side."

Lyn looked at the wall clock and sighed.

"I have to go, Susan. My lunch break is over." Lyn gathered her things to leave but something her shorter friend had said during her Raphael story. "How is Raphael fitting in here?"

Susan's eyebrows twitched upward, and her eyes widened- confused. It was a reasonable response as Lyn had shown very little interest in the man before.

"Ummm, fine. It was a little rocky at first, but there's always a learning curve when working somewhere new. I'm sure it's the same thing for you."

Lyn was barely listening at the end, her mind already whirring. She let out a distracted 'See you, Susan' before heading back to her new office.

***

"I've been thinking." Lyn was pacing in front of Peter's desk. Jones sitting in one of the guest chairs, watching her move back and forth, an almost amused expression on his face.

"That's good," the older man said slowly. Lyn ignored him.

"Why sell to the small gallery when The Met obviously would have taken it and paid a better price? The forgers knew it wouldn't stand up to extreme scrutiny so they sold to a smaller gallery that couldn't afford testing. The painting wouldn't have even been questioned if it hadn't been sold to The Met. And the various painters worked seamlessly together. You had to x-ray and then put the thing under the microscope to see the differences. Whoever these people are they know the system and each other. I seriously doubt this is their first forgery."

"Alright. And how is this going to help us find them?" Jones' tone wasn't mocking but it wasn't curious either; more like he just couldn't understand what she was doing there. A lot of law enforcement officers were confused about that but they usually weren't as polite as Jones was being about it.

Lyn was glad Peter jumped in because she hadn't really thought that part through.

"Well we can't go around and check every small gallery in New England for these three part forgeries or whatever they are. Let's just start with the ones in the city and see if we can't scrounge up a lead on the perps."

Lyn watched Jones shift in his seat to sit up straighter and lean forward, the picture of attentiveness. It was clear how much he wanted Peter's approval.

"We should start with any unusual purchases, very valuable paintings." Jones almost did a double take when he heard the suggestion come from Lyn instead of his mentor. "Having a more valuable piece usually means it's rare and therefore more desirable. It would help ensure the gallery, especially a smaller gallery, be more cooperative, maybe overlook questionable, I don't know," she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "these things usually come with some sort of paperwork for authenticity or something, right?" Lyn heard try to Peter suppress a snort of amusement and she saw Jones' smirk out of the corner of her eye. When she looked at him his face projected professionalism and sobriety but his eyes were brimming with laughter, but not in a cruel way.

What? White Collar wasn't her specialty. Peter knew that. Jones could be good-naturedly amused all he wanted, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright," Peter nodded at both her and Jones. "Go at it."

Lyn was confused. "Both of us?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Ok, not really part of my job description but I can go with it."

"Get Neal to help," Peter looked over his desk into the bullpen. Caffrey was twirling his hat and staring off into space. "He looks bored."

Yeah, cause more research and paperwork was bound to keep him entertained. He would probably commit fraud for kicks. By the slight smirk on Peter's face, he was quite aware of what fate he was binding his charge to.

Jones stood and opened the door for her- a gentleman- not like to way Caffrey had done it- for the attention. "Shall we?"

***

Clinton Jones was a give-a-guy-(or girl, as the case may be)-a-chance kind of person. Unlike many of his co-workers Jones had sat back and reserved judgment when Neal Caffrey came to work at the White Collar unit under Peter's custody. Caffrey had turned out to be, not to sound cliché, a breath of fresh air. He brought the creativity level up around the office and was whip smart, which Jones always appreciated, and well, was just a really likeable guy. Not that Jones wasn't entirely aware that Neal could cut and run at any moment but until he did the agent was satisfied just to enjoy working with the ex-con.

And then there was Lyn Marrow. Jones had been suspicious at first, thought that this was another OPR scam to get at Peter or Neal. But she had looked him in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms what she was doing there, and she was being honest, Jones had always been good at deciphering things like that. And Peter trusted her. Hell, Peter hired her as their personal shrink. So he was sitting back, just as he did for Caffrey, and was reserving judgment. So far she seemed competent and could go toe-to-toe with Neal, which was a feat in itself. And there was just something about her that made you feel comfortable and relaxed. Which could be just as much of a psychology trick as Neal's likeableness could be a con.

"Hey man," Jones said, tapping Neal's elevated foot on his desk, "We've got more research to do." At first the con man looked up at Jones like a kicked puppy but then his face shifted over into reluctant professionalism.

"On what?"

"Grab your laptop, we're going to the conference room." Caffrey complied. They began to ascend the stairs as Jones filled him in. "We're supposed to be looking at small galleries in New York that got unusually valuable paintings." Jones let Neal walk in first and he caught the slight hesitation when Neal saw Marrow was sitting at the conference table, already started on the research from the looks of it.

"Dr. Marrow," the blue-eyed man greeted.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey. Agent Jones."

Jones noted that though she was continuously friendly her tone was several degrees warmer when she said his name. Caffrey sat right across from the psychologist, just like this morning. The con man opened his laptop and settled in but he kept glancing up at Marrow, like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Or couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was a good-looking woman after all. But Jones had a gut feeling it that wasn't it.

"I got a list of all 300 art galleries in New York City." Marrow gave them both, well, mostly Jones, a wry smile. "Want to go alphabetically?"

"So you're here to profile the galleries." The redhead's focus was immediately diverted to Neal.

"I can't profile a building."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely."

"Because it's a building. I'm here because this will go faster with three people."

"Then why isn't Cruz here instead of you?"

"Because Peter is a sadist."

"Peter?"

"Yes, I do believe that's Agent Burke's name."

"I'm aware, I just didn't know you were so casual."

"He calls me Lyn."

"Yes but you call me Mr. Caffrey."

"That's because my relationship with Peter is nothing like my relationship with you."

"We're in a relationship? Well it's a little fast and there's that whole engagement thing on your part but I suppose that's taken care of easy enough."

"This ring is going nowhere."

"You can call me Neal."

"I think I'll stay with 'Mr. Caffrey'."

"Can I call you Lyn?"

"You can call me Lyn when I start calling you Neal."

Jones was 99% sure they had forgotten he was there. But he wasn't offended, this was… interesting. Neal looked like he was having the time of his life while Marrow was impossible to read behind her stonewall friendly-but-utterly-professional look, even when she was calling Peter a sadist.

"Uh, guys?" As entertaining as this was, they did have work to do. "Let's just split up the list and get working."

"Fine with me."

"Great."

Jones glanced back and forth at their identical guileless expressions. Yep. Definitely interesting.

***

They had been going at this for an hour and Neal felt like he was about to go nuts. There was even a kind of humming noise in his head. Not only did they have to research the current displays on every single gallery in New York City but every piece of artwork that passed through those galleries in the past five years.

Wait, the humming wasn't in his head, it was coming from Marrow. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, like something he had heard on the radio or in a restaurant or something. Definitely not something he owned.

"Are you humming Metalica?"

At Jones' question Marrow's head shot up from her computer and her eyes wide and her body gone still, like she had been caught red handed at something particularly embarrassing. It was priceless.

"No."

A few minutes later Neal heard the low humming again. This time it was 'Good Morning' from Singing in the Rain. Metalica to musicals?

"You're humming again." Neal couldn't resist pointing it out. Her professional face fluttered back and forth to flustered.

"No, I- I used to, when I work, but not anymore."

Neal shared a thinly veiled amused look with Jones.

"Of course not." Neal could tell she was biting back a retort somewhere along the lines of an indignant 'I don't!'. But then she stopped and calmed and Neal was transported back to that stupidly neutral room with the plants in every corner. She simply gave him a small, pleasant, close-lipped smile and went back to her list.

When Neal heard the first two bars of 'Share the Land' he almost burst out laughing. Neal knew that most of the work in White Collar was going to be paperwork and research but it must have been getting to him more than usual if he was about to break his carefully constructed composure over Guess Who. Luckily Peter joined them and prevented Neal from cracking open like a cheap safe. He didn't think he'd fare well in that condition under Marrow's neutral room stare.

"So have you found anything?"

"Mmm, I've got a suspect early Duchamp at the Pinhole Gallery," Jones supplied.

"There was a $450,000 purchase of a Mondrian at a place called…" Lyn scanned her third of the list and her eyebrows centered and raised, the universal muscle twitches for 'you have got to be kidding me', "Halfway House. It was sold to some guy named Daniel Picah."

If Neal were writing this scene he would have himself take a drink of water right at the mention of Daniel's name so he could dramatically and comedically choke and sputter. Luckily for him there was no water in sight. The con man refused to look at Peter lest it trigger the secret sadist, the one that brought deviled ham into an enclosed space, that he knew lurked within Peter Burke.

"The name sounds familiar," Lyn said absently. Neal ignored her in favor of staring holes into his borrowed FBI issue office laptop.

If I pretend it's not happening it'll just go away.

"Wasn't he the guy who had one of the jade elephants?" Jones supplied. Traitor.

Neal was still not looking at Peter but he could hear the smirk in his voice and feel his jubilant stare boring into his forehead.

"Yes he was."

God, Peter sounded way too happy about this.

"Well," his handler continued, "I think it's time we dropped by Mr. Picah's place. Retrieve the Mondrian ourselves. Neal?"

Oh, no. Peter wouldn't be so cruel. Peter wouldn't subject him to that house that bastardized priceless works of art and had absolutely not sense of cohesion. And Peter definitely wouldn't subject him to the distorted hero worship of Daniel Picah. Neal finally looked at his partner, his own expression probably locked in pitiful.

Actually, yes, he would be that cruel.

***

It took all of Peter's considerable self-control to not burst out laughing. Daniel Picah was probably one of maybe four people Neal really, really would rather not like him. And as much as Peter enjoyed and appreciated Neal's intelligence and expertise he also thought his charge's seemingly infallible suave veneer should be deservedly shaken. If Neal was going to be a normal (read: law-abiding) person then he was going to have to start acting like a normal person, not like a character in some hyper-stylish caper movie. Or cartoon.

And the expression on Neal's face when he suggested they go see Picah personally. Priceless.

But there was more to the visit than simply jerking Neal's chain. If there was something suspect about the painting's origin and the gallery knew about it or even suspected, they would clam up the second the acronym FBI left his lips. Picah, however, would be more than willing to help. Especially when Neal, Picah's epitome of cool, was around.

Peter caught Lyn eyeing Neal's reaction interestedly. She would be useful when dealing with Picah. Picah distracted easy and the woman had a talent for getting people to talk about exactly what she wanted them to. And maybe Peter wanted to keep all of the man's attention off of him.

"Lyn, why don't you tag along?"

The redhead looked confused.

"He's a suspect?" she asked slowly. Peter shook his head.

"He gets… sidetracked. I need you to do your psychobabble thing to keep him on point." Peter stood up. "Jones grab Cruz and finish this list. I'll send a team over to the Pinhole Gallery."

"So do I still have to go with you?" Neal was giving him his best puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh yeah."

"Right."

Lyn just looked between him and Neal suspiciously before packing up her things and walking out the door.

Neal was sulking in the passenger's seat. Well, he was trying not to show it in front of Lyn but there was a slight hardness to his mouth that wanted to turn into a pout. The kinder thing would have been to just take Lyn along and leave Neal at the office but with how dull the day must have been for him, Peter didn't really trust the ex con away from his supervision.

Lyn's head appeared between the seats and the agent was struck with the urge to scold her for exhibiting unsafe behavior in the car like she was a child.

"So, Mr. Caffrey, why are you so anxious to see Picah?"

Peter couldn't help himself and let out a snort of laughter. This got Lyn's attention as she turned to him for explanation.

"Oh, you'll see when we get there."

Lyn leaned back in her seat.

"Uh-huh."

They pulled up to the rather sizable house that contained several floors of, according to Neal, horribly mismatched pieces of art.

"Agent Burke! Neal!" Picah's overly enthused visage filled the doorway. His eyes fell on Lyn and they almost popped out of his skull. The redhead graced him with a wide smile and offered her hand to shake.

"Lyn Marrow." The trust fund baby took the offered hand and kissed the back of it.

"Enchante." Peter had taken French for two years in college and while his own skills were lacking due to disuse that was possible one of the worst accents he had ever heard. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Neal's jaw tighten for just a moment, suppressing the urge to laugh. Lyn took it in spades, her smile never faltering. "Come in! Come in! I just got a 16th century Parisian dagger. 5 Grand if you can believe it."

The house was just as it was those two months ago, big and filled with things the stands for cost more than his car. Well, there were a few exceptions. There was now a very nice hat rack filled with fedoras and there was an antique record player with stacks of Sinatra albums fashionably placed next to it. Peter would bet anything that Picah's closet was currently filled with vintage suits.

"Hey Neal, check it out." Picah lifted one of the fedoras and did that flippy thing Neal does whenever he feels the need to accessorize. The movement wasn't as smooth but the man was obviously proud of it.

"Hey, you learned the trick all by yourself."

Picah darted over to Lyn, who was switching between observing him and taking inventory of the place.

"That's a 13th century silk fan from Beijing. $45,000 if you can believe it." He turned back to Peter and Neal. "Hey, I'm glad you guys dropped by I've got some vintage Chianti and cigars. We could hang out."

"Yeah," Peter interrupted, "Actually we're here on another case."

"Really?" This seemed to please him even more.

"Yes," Lyn began, "You purchased a Mondrian from a gallery called Halfway House."

"Yeah, for a cool 45 K if you can believe it."

"Well we suspect it may be a forgery," Neal finished.

"Wow, can you believe it! That I would have not one but two hot pieces!"

"Well it was bound to happen." Lyn waved her arm to draw attention to the clusters of artworks. "Statistically speaking."

"And you haven't even seen the rest of the house!"

"And I would love to see it." Lyn wasn't being flirtatious, just friendly. "Why don't you tell Agent Burke where the painting is and he and Mr. Caffrey can check it out." Picah looked torn between leaving his idol and showing off for Lyn. But the woman fixed him with an expectant stare and so he caved.

"It's on the fourth floor on the right. View from the Dunes with Beach and Piers, Domburg."

Peter glanced at Neal who nodded, meaning he could identify the piece.

"Shall we?" Lyn turned her body towards the stairs. It was a way for her to control Picah's movements, subtle but effective. The pair disappeared to the second floor while he and Neal ascended to check out the possible forgery.

***

Neal stared at the Mondrian painting. It was beautiful. It was more than beautiful. Strokes of color, Burnt Orange no.4, Teal Meadow, Periwinkle Blue, it was one of his earlier works, before he transitioned into Analytic Cubism. It was a landscape, only distinguishable by the direction and type of brushstroke. It was also a forgery. A very, very good forgery but a fake nonetheless.

By the looks of it there was a great chance that it was done by the same trio. Or quadruplet or whatever.

"It's a forgery," Neal informed his handler, straightening from the bent position he assumed to get closer to the painting. "Looks like another of our group projects." Peter nodded.

"Ok, I'll get a forensic team to come collect it," Peter said, taking out his cell phone. Neal raised an eyebrow.

"Ok? That's it? No snarky comment? No sarcasm? No questioning my considerable expertise? Just ok?" The FBI agent gave him a dry what-are-you-talking-about-you-idiot stare.

"Yeah. Ok. Believe it or not I actually trust you about these things. Or else you wouldn't be here." The older man shook his head and turned away to make his phone call. Neal was confused. They had gone off script. He leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, the pose made him looked sharp. He had practiced this stance so much it was effortless.

The sound of Picah's and Marrow's voices made him twitch his head to the side, trying to distinguish the words. The con man had to lean back and look over to the floor below to hear clearly. There was Marrow, in her pretty cream blouse- silk, actually, high quality, watching Picah patiently who couldn't seem to stop telling her everything she wanted to know.

"…so after I told the curator I wanted it she got kinda nervous, went into her office to make a call. The door wasn't shut so I could hear her. She was talking to a guy, called him Professor something. Something with an M. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping or anything-" Marrow cut him off by shaking her head, and while he couldn't really see her face he imagined she was smiling at the trust fund baby pleasantly.

"No, I wouldn't imagine you do. And you really can't remember the professor's name?" Her voice was soft, almost hypnotic and Neal imagined she could get innocent men to confess to murder with that voice. Poor Picah.

"No, if you can believe it."

"Mmm. That's too bad. Would have really helped Neal and the investigation."

Ah, so she had noticed Picah's little man-crush on him. Peter had finished his call and joined Neal looking down at the pair.

"She's good," Peter said low enough so his voice didn't carry to the next floor.

"Very good," Neal agreed. The con man ignored Peter's stare boring into the side of his face.

***

The trio exited the modern mansion as the forensic team entered.

"So what did you think of Picah?" Peter's voice held a hint of barely contained mischievousness. Neal glanced over at Lyn and saw her lips twitch and purse, her jaw tighten and eye crinkle. The con man rolled his eyes.

"Oh, go ahead."

Marrow caught his gaze and then burst out laughing. And she wasn't just laughing, she was pointing and laughing. Well, getting her to laugh was a step in the right direction of where he wanted her to go, even if he hadn't so much gotten her to laugh as she was openly mocking him.

But hey, reality was really all about interpretation.


End file.
